There are four things everyone knows about the Dictatorial President Regina Cruise.

1. She’s rich. Extremely rich.
2. She takes any opportunity to gain money.
3. She does this by making the public suffer.
4. She secretly enjoys seeing the public suffer.
    No one ever tries to prove the last; they’re too busy kissing her boots and pretending she’s some sort of savior, what the world needs. I know it’s true, though, regardless of how low they bow.

    She’s like a rattlesnake masquerading as a pet. Dangerous, but seemingly innocent.

    She won’t be dangerous for much longer. A rattlesnake can’t bite you without its head.

I’m out walking again. This time, it’s not for the air or to clear my head.

    This time, I need to find Sanders.

    Not only can she help me, but I’m curious. She has a certain charisma. A way of talking. And, of course, she doesn’t like Cruise. That’s something you don’t find in a lot of people.

    It’s late and the only light comes from the flashlight I hold. I’d rather not literally run into her again.

    I walk until the smog clears from the sky and the moon casts a pale, ghostly glow over the night. No figures are in the empty street before me.

    Too late. If this is the time, it’s likely she’ll be working through the night.

    I turn around and begin walking when I hear a call.

I’m in her house.

    It’s because of Cruise. Apparently, she started a curfew.

    Not that I’m complaining about being in Sanders’ house. It’s very nice.

    What I am complaining about is Cruise making another law for absolutely no reason.

    “She claims,” Sanders says, “that it’s to reduce crime. All crime goes on during the day now, everyone knows that. The only thing she’s doing with the curfew is setting up a decrease in some of the police force so she can take the money from their fund to buy herself another mansion.”

    For her own pockets, then.

    That’s just as bad. How is she in charge of an entire country? Everything she does is in her interest. What about the people who lose their jobs because of her need for money? What about the people arrested for having a bottle of rum in their basement because she feels the need to pass a ban alcohol to punish whichever aide was seen with a flask?

    And what about the people who can’t bear to live in the same world as her for another second because of the things she does? The people who she beats down to death? The ones waiting to get home so they can hang limply and wait for discovery?

     Regina Cruise is behind all of it. She is an angel of suffering.

    “How she ended up in charge is beyond me,” Sanders grumbles.

    “Me too,” I say. “We would have been better off with a narcissist as the Dictatorial.”

    “We already have one,” Sanders says dryly.

    I laugh darkly. One more thing to add to the list. Regina Cruise: Murderer, dictator, hoarder, tormentor, and narcissist. How very.

    “So, why’d you come here?” she asks, changing the subject.

    “Work,” I answer carefully. “I’ve moved around a lot, so it’s nothing new. Seventeen cities and the only difference is the address.” I stop, then go on. “And you? You’ve been here for a while, I’m assuming?”

    “Yeah. Five years. I moved here looking for a job. Worked at a gas station selling slushies for a while. Then Cruise decided to employ me about a year ago.”

     “A year? She’s kept you for that long?”

     “I have my ways,” she says, giving me a mysterious grin. She looks like a cat that knows exactly where the mice are hiding.

     I like that.

     The grin is reassuring.

     I think this could work.

I’ve known Sanders for three weeks when she shows up on my doorstep.

    “Didn’t expect you at my humble abode,” I say when I open the door.

    “Neither did I,” Sanders says, looking tense. There’s a bruise forming above her left eye, too. “Can I come in?”

    “Yeah.” I step to the side to let her in. “You want something? Coffee?”        

    “Something a bit stronger than that, if you’ve got any,” she says.

    Something a bit stronger.

    I like this one.

    Government employee asking for something illegal.

    That’s probably why I deliver.

    We sit down, and she plunges into a story. About Cruise.

    “She’s been sued for tax evasion,” Sanders says. “She’d just blow it off, but she wants to make an example of it. Prove she’s innocent, which she isn’t, and use it as a warning to anyone who tries to cross her.”

     “Where do you fit into all of this?”

     Over the past few weeks, she’s told me a fair deal about her proximity to Cruise. She’s an advisor of some sort. Speaks directly with her.

     “Cruise wants me to forge some sort of report to prove her ‘innocence.’” Sanders takes a drink, then swishes around the amber liquid in her glass. “I told her that I was tired of all the lies and deception and that I wouldn’t help. She gave me this-“ She points to the bruise “-and told me that if I didn’t help her, she’d be sure to tell the judge I was the one evading taxes. That would lose me my job, and with the publicity of it all, no one would give me a job after that.”

     I’m quiet for a moment. “Well, I see your dilemma.”

     “And?”

     “And what?”

     “What do you think I should do?”

     I don’t respond right away.

    This could be my chance- not only would I be able to eliminate Cruise, help the world- but it would help Sanders as well.

     It’s a win-win situation.

     I play my next cards carefully.

     “I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” I say. “I mean, to hell with her, but-“

     “That’s not helpful,” she interrupts.

     “Well, it’s the truth. The way this system is wired-“

     “Look, I came here hoping you could help me not lose my job and not bow down to Cruise, but if you can’t-“

     My next words are a gamble.

     “How far are you willing to go?”

The sun rises.

    The sky is red.

    Sanders told me to meet her a few blocks away from the building that Cruise will be in. At dawn.

    It’s dawn now, and the only figures I can see is a pair of men in an alleyway talking in hushed tones. Probably dealing.

    I wait for no more than twenty minutes when Sanders arrives. She’s carrying a briefcase and a bag.

    “Here,” she says, passing me the bag.

    I open it slightly and glance inside it.

    “It’s a uniform for her private service,” Sanders explains. “The badge is a forgery, but it should get you anywhere you need to go.”

    “Perfect.”  

    “You can duck into the gas station over there, that’s where I worked. I’m friendly with the manager, he said I can use the back room whenever. Just tell him you’re a friend of mine, and don’t forget to lock the door while you’re changing.”

    “Will do.” I nod, then cross the street quickly, headed towards the gas station.

    Not ten minutes later, I’m back outside, now dressed in a black suit, double checking to make sure that I have what I need. My left pocket has the toasted corn and a small, folded box. My right has the almond scented powder and plastic gloves. My inside pocket hides a gun, should things get messy.

    Yes, I think I have everything.

    Sanders glances at me as I tuck the toasted corn into my pocket.

    “What’s that for?” she asks.

    “You said that was Cruise’s favorite snack a while back,” I say. “If she walks in on me, they’ll work as a distraction.”

    Sanders nods, then begins walking in the direction of Cruise’s building.

    “So you’re going to grab the files and get them to Dunns?” she checks.

    I lie. “Yeah. Who are the ones I should watch out for? Cruise’s cronies?”

    “Daine and Mahlah. Mahlah is alright. Daine isn’t half bad either. They’re with Cruise, though. They think I should forge the documents.”

    Maybe Cruise won’t be the only one getting the toasted corn.

    I stop myself from entertaining the rest of that thought. Sanders says they're okay. They aren’t murderers like Cruise.

    I’m merciful.

    I’ll give them a chance.

Sanders was right.

    The badge worked.

    The guards at the front doors probably had about two brain cells between the seven of them. They didn’t have the slightest idea that the badge was fake, or what I’m carrying in my right pocket.

    I split up from Sanders once we pass security. She’s headed to Cruise’s office. I am, too, but I’m taking a detour.

    The bathrooms are more luxurious than my entire house. Golden plated mirrors with ornately placed rubies in the corners. Crystal sinks. She doesn’t deserve all of this beauty.

    It stirs the anger that sits in my stomach.

    Good.

    I check quickly and inconspicuously for hidden cameras. Nothing.

    At least she respects my privacy.

    I enter a stall and pull the plastic gloves from my pocket. Then the toasted corn and powder.

    I drop the corn into the powder. Carefully. Precisely.

    Without touching it, I mix it.

   Once it’s mixed, I set it on a small shelf, probably for briefcases or purses, and slide out the folded box. I unfold it, then refold it so it’s no longer flat.

    I set this down on the shelf as well, before picking up the bag with the powder-coated corn. The powder is more visible as I had hoped. Just my luck.

    Oh well.

    It’ll still do the job.

    I pluck the toasted corn from the bag and place it carefully in the box, close the lid, then seal the top of the bag with powder. After the bag is tucked back in my pocket, I pull my gloves off, careful not to touch the lingering powder. The gloves are slipped into the bag the toasted corn was originally in, then into my pocket.

    I pick up the closed box.

    I’m good to go.

I walk through the halls slowly. I’m in no hurry.

    If anything, I want to savor these few minutes.

   The door to Regina Cruise’s office is extravagant, like everything else in this building. I’m not surprised.

    What does surprise me is the lack of guards at her door. You’d think she’d want maximum security.

    I guess she feels safe surrounded by these reminders of her power. Untouchable.

    How wrong she is.

    I knock, then enter.

No one notices that I came in.    

    Cruise is sitting at her desk, looking at Sanders with cruel brown eyes. Unfeeling.

    Sanders meets her eyes defiantly.

    Cruise speaks. “Please. You think that I’ll incriminate myself because you glare at me?”

    Sander says nothing.

    “Let me correct you. You’re wrong. Just because you’re good with forgeries doesn’t mean I take orders from you. In case you’ve forgotten, you take orders from me. If you don’t learn your place....” She trails off threateningly, then speaks again, more dangerous than every. “Understood?”

    “Yes, President Cruise.” Sanders spits the words out.

    “Watch your tone, Sanders. You’re talking to a superior.”

    I don’t pay attention to what Sanders says next, if she says anything. I’m scanning the room for cameras that I’m sure are watching.

    I don’t see anything.

    Again I’m surprised.

    I hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

    I don’t have any complaints, though.

    Cruise is talking again. She still hasn’t noticed that I’m here.

    I clear my throat.

    She turns to look at me.

    “What are you doing here?” she snaps. “This office is private for a reason.”

    “I brought toasted corn.” I hold up the small box. “It’s a gift from the cooks.”

    “There aren’t any cooks, much less kitchens, in this building,” Cruise says, raising her eyebrows at me.

    “They stopped by,” I lie. “They thought you might like it, seeing as it’s your favorite.”

    Cruise hesitates, but not for long.

    “Bring it here,” she orders.

    I do what she asks.

    Cruise grabs the box from me, and opens the lid. Without noticing the powder, she pops a handful in her mouth, then turns to continue lecturing Sanders.

    “If you even think,” she says, “that-“

    Without warning, Cruise begins to convulse.

    Her breaths come in short gasps.

    It’s time.

She is dead within minutes.

    She never shouts for help.

    Nor does Sanders. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s in shock or if it’s because she wants Cruise to die.

    I think it’s because of the shock. Seeing someone ingest cyanide and die isn’t something you see every day.

    I walk around to the other side of the desk and examine my work.

    She fell out of her seat while she was thrashing. Her honey blonde hair is fanned out around her, and she looks almost peaceful, if not for the tormented expression on her face.

    It could have been better, I suppose, but it did the job.

    The snake’s head has been cut off.

    It’s harmless now.

    I glance back at Sanders. She’s staring at the body in horror, mouthing wordlessly.

    I’ll give her a minute to get her head on straight. Then we’ll make our escape.

    The body is already turning a cherry red color before she says anything besides muttered “Oh my God”s.

    “She’s dead,” she says as though the body on the floor isn’t proof enough. “She’s dead. They’re going to think we killed her! Holy sh-“

    We did kill her. Well, technically, I did. I guess she hasn’t put two and two together. The toasted corn. Cruise’s almost immediate death.

    It’s probably better that way.

    “Well…” I test the waters. “She can’t fire you now.”

    Sanders shakes her head numbly. “No.”

    “We should get out of here,” I suggest. “If they find us here we’ll be on death row.”

    Without argument, she moves towards the door.

    I take one last look at Cruise.

    It’s almost poetic. She’s waiting for discovery, same as the others.

    Unlike the others, she’s not suspended from a rickety fan.

    I shut the door quietly behind me, counting the seconds until I will hear the scream dribble through air.

We’re in Sanders’ office when I hear it.

    High and shrieking, it’s music to my ears.

    We’ve burned the regime of Regina Cruise down like a wildfire would a forest.

    Now it’s time to replant and rebuild it into something better.

    Sanders tenses, eyes wide with fear.

   “They can’t trace it back to us,” I say quietly, reassuringly. “You just have to act natural. Like you’ve done nothing wrong, which you haven’t. Nothing to hide.”

    She hasn’t done anything. I have, though.

    Her fear could sell us both out, regardless of who did it, and we’d be dead as Cruise and her victims.

    “You need to get through the day, act like you didn’t see anyone die. Go about business as usual. Pretend you heard the scream, but didn’t know what it was. Be shocked when you hear that Cruise is dead,” I instruct. “Leaving will be suspicious.”

    Sanders nods blankly.

    “Okay. I’ll-“

    Before I can finish, the door bursts open.

    Two women are at the door, looking hysterical.

    “Verity, Regina- Regina’s dead!” the first one exclaims. “I went to conference with her, and I opened the door, and she was just lying there-“

    Ah, so they were the ones to find the body.

    Of all the people to find it, I hadn’t expected a two brunettes dressed in heels and tight-fitting dresses.

   “What?” Sanders says, visibly shaken.

   The second one repeats it, calmer. “Regina is dead,” she says. “We found her in her office. It looks like she was murdered.”

    Sanders is silent, plainly terrified.

    The first misreads this as shock.

    “I can’t believe it either, I don’t know who would kill her-“

    I do. Me.

    “-she didn’t see anyone this morning anyway, and-“

    “Who are you?” the second woman demands, noticing me.

    “I’m part of Cruise’s private service,” I say.

    She looks at me skeptically.

    “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

    “I’m new.”

    “That must be it. If you wouldn’t mind, Mr…”

    “Lüge.”

    “Mr. Lüge, I’d like to talk with Sanders alone. You’re dismissed.”

    It’s very clear from her tone that she doesn’t want me listening to what she has to say.

    Now I’m curious. What would they not want Cruise’s private service to hear?

    “With all due respect, ma’am, since Cruise has been murdered, there’s likely an assassin in the building, who would potentially be coming after anyone close to her, or with power, I think it’s safer for everyone if I stay here.”

    “He has a good point,” the first one says.

    “Alright, fine, then,” the second says. “But this is confidential. If you repeat anything you hear in this room, it’ll be considered treason.”

    “Understood,” I say.

    “Good.” The woman turns to Sanders. “Cruise was red- red as that ruby ring she wore. Cyanide. She was killed by cyanide. We found these in her office.” She holds up the box of toasted corn.

    I swear under my breath. I must have forgotten them on her desk.

    “Toasted corn? Saeva, that’s hardly lethal, unless you have indigestion,” Sanders says, giving a strangled-sounding laugh.

    The second one must be Daine, then. One of the ones Sanders warned me about. So then the other must be Mahlah.

    “There’s cyanide powder on them,” the first one, Mahlah, says. “Look!”

    Sanders glances at me. I can see the exact moment when she makes the connection.

   She says nothing.

   “Who’s been in contact with Regina in the past few hours besides the three of us?” she asks instead. “If we can pinpoint anyone who has been in contact with her and doesn’t have an alibi…. There’s going to be an investigation, right?”

    “I’m hiring Saffer and Kadin. They’re the best we have.”

    “Alright.”

    “Well, Mahlah is going to knock off early.” Daine says briskly, gesturing to the other woman. “You can leave too, if you want. I’m going to stay, someone needs to do the paperwork. And I’m the Vice, so I’m sure there’ll be meetings.”

    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to head home,” Sanders says.

    “Okay. Just make sure you’re here tomorrow. That’s when the cleanup begins.”

    The cleanup has already started. It started the moment Regina Cruise swallowed that toasted corn.

    “Okay.”

    Without another word, Daine and Mahlah leave.

    Sanders turns to me.

    “We need to talk,” she says.

    I’m sure we do.

She hurries through security to leave, then through the empty streets.

    I follow her to her house, where she unlocks the door, then heads inside, motioning abruptly for me to follow.

    Sanders corners me the second I close the door.

    “Did you kill her?” she demands.

    I try to play innocent.

    “What? No! No, I didn’t kill her!”

    She’s not convinced.

    “The toasted corn had cyanide on it. She ate the toasted corn, then died. Explain that.”

   I use the first plausible lie that comes into my head. “I thought I put some sort of sleeping powder on those that would knock her out! That’s what the guy said-“

    “What guy?”

    “The guy I was dealing with!”

    “You were dealing?”

    “Yes, I was planning to knock her out, then grab the files, photocopy them, then put the originals back, it was foolproof!”

    “Yeah, real foolproof,” Sanders says dryly. “Cruise is definitely just knocked out, not dead and the color of a cherry slushie!”

    I hold back a laugh. Even after witnessing a murder, her sarcasm is functional as ever.

    “Do you swear you didn’t kill her on purpose?” Sanders asks, surveying me suspiciously.

    “Swear,” I say.

    She hesitates before speaking again. “Okay. Good.”

    Good is right.

    I didn’t get caught.

    Not yet, at least.

The broadcasts are eating up Cruise’s death with a spoon.

    For two weeks, that’s all I see on television. All I hear on the radio.

    She’s almost more popular dead.

    Saeva Daine has taken office. She’s gone from Vice Dictatorial President to Dictatorial President. Anyone can tell she’s enjoying it.

    Perhaps too much.

    She might not be ideal as Cruise’s replacement. I’ll give her a test trial. Perhaps her newfound love of power won’t sink into ruthless need of it.

Approximately one month after Cruise’s timely death, the broadcasts change from nothing but talk of the elusiveness of her assassin (I’m flattered that they’d think of me as elusive) to talk of her successor.

    “According to inside sources, Dictatorial President Daine has threatened to fire Vice Dictatorial President Loralei Mahlah. The sudden threat is rumored to have come from Mahlah’s lack of willingness to comply with Daine’s actions towards reworking the country’s laws to become less oppressive,” the broadcaster says over the static.

    I turn off the radio.

    Less oppressive.

    I have a hard time believing that. More likely that she’s working to make her birthday a national holiday.

    I won’t jump to conclusions right away. I’m reasonable like that.

    I’ll talk to Sanders first.

“It’s nothing benevolent, I can tell you that much,” Sanders says.

    What a surprise.

    “Some sort of reform on the Dictatorial Guidelines so she can revise the duties a bunch of positions like Vice and Vizier. Give herself more power. She thinks that Cruise was killed because she didn’t have enough power.”

    There’s evident disgust in her tone that I agree with. Cruise didn’t die because she didn’t have enough power.

    She died because she had too much power to abuse.

    What I thought was a snake’s head that I cut off was actually a hydra. Daine has grown back to replace Cruise.

    The real question is what form the second head will take.

    Before Sanders can go on or I can speak, there is a loud rapping at the door.

    Sanders glances at me before standing to open it.

    There are two men standing outside with official-looking suits. Both are fit with dark hair and aggressive expressions. One pulls out a badge.

    “Ms. Sanders. Valdis Saffer,” he says.

    “Dom Kadin,” the other says.

    “We’re the private investigators Dictatorial President Daine hired,” Saffer tells Sanders. “Can we talk to you…” He notices me. “And your friend?”

    Sanders’ eyes go wide for a brief moment before she regains a passive expression.

    “Of course,” she says.

    They follow her to sit down.

    I look at the investigators as indifferently as I can.

    “So,” Saffer says as Kadin pulls out a pad of paper. “Tell us where you were the morning Regina Cruise was assassinated.”

   “I went into work,” Sanders says. “I was in my office when Mahlah and Daine came in to tell me what had happened.”

    I almost find myself believing her. Almost. Except for the fact that I was there. I’m impressed, though.

    Sanders makes a good liar.

    “And you?” Saffer squints at me.

    I begin talking. “I-“

    “We don’t know your name,” Kadin interrupts.

    “Meyer Deus,” I say.

    “Meyer Deus? You sure? You look like one of the people on the security camera footage from Sanders’ office.” Saffer pulls a photo out of his pocket. “Mahlah said that his name was Lüge.”

    This isn’t good.

    This isn’t good at all.

    If these two have any brains, which I assume, unfortunately, that they do, they’ll have their assassin caught.

    I have three options.

    Confess.

    Deny that I had a false identity with the last name “Lüge.”

    Or tie up these loose ends.

    Of all of these, one is definitely preferable.

    I think quickly. I need to get out of this room for a minute and come up with a plan.

    “I can’t imagine why I’d be on there- I don’t even have a government job.” I stand. “Do either of you want something to drink? I was going to run to the kitchen.”

    Saffer shakes his head. “No, we’re fi-“

    “Sure,” Kadin says. “We’ll both have something.”

    Saffer grumbles something, but doesn’t correct him.

    I head into Sanders’ kitchen, looking for a plan.

    My pockets are empty of any tools. I doubt Sanders will have anything I can use.

    I glance around the kitchen. There’s a sharp knife, probably for cutting apples, sitting on the counter. Too messy. Unfortunately, that’s the only thing that I can use. Food coloring, flour, dirty dishes, and bleach aren’t of much use.

   Wait.

   Bleach.

   Perfect.

I return from the kitchen with three mugs.

    One is for myself.

    The other two are for Saffer and Kadin.

    I pass them the two mugs and sit down with my own.

    “Do you have identification on you?” Saffer asks.

    I pull an ID from my pocket and pass it over.

    Kadin grabs it to examine. He writes something in his notebook, then passes it back.

    Saffer holds his mug to his lips and takes a drink.

    “What’s this?” he asks, face screwed up.

    “A special recipe of mine,” I say. “The aftertaste is much better.”

    Kadin takes a drink as well.

    Saffer makes a contracted choking noise and grabs at his throat before falling back in his chair, lifeless.

    Kadin seems to realize what I’ve done. He can do nothing more than look at me for a brief moment before falling forward.

    I allow myself a sigh of relief. The loose ends have been taken care of.

    There’s a loud exclamation a few feet to the right of me.

    I was wrong. I still have one

    Sanders.

I look at her.

    Shit.

    I don’t want to kill her.

    But she will go to the authorities. Whether it’s the police or Daine, I’m screwed if she lives.

    If she lives, the world keeps on spinning the way it always has been. Cold, cruel, uncaring, and abusive. If she dies, I can fix everything. Life could be beautiful.

    I’m the only one who can see that our broken world isn’t right. I’m the only one that knows that sometimes you have to burn something down to make it better.

    I sit motionless for another minute before making my choice.

    Before I can stand up and make towards the kitchen for the knife, Sanders is in front of me, arms crossed.

    “You killed them,” she says simply. “You killed Cruise.”

    No point denying it.

    “That I did.”

    “You used me to get to Cruise. You were planning to kill her before you met me,”

Sanders says, beginning to pace. “Right?”

    She makes what I’ve done sound like a crime.

    “I prefer that I made you part of my plan,” I say.

    “You say tomato, I say tomato.”

    The room is silent except for Sanders’ pacing.

    She finally stops in front of me.

    “Explain,” she demands.

    “Explain? Well, I prefer ‘I made you part of my plan’ because ‘you used me’ sounds really manipulative, don’t you think?”

    “No, not that. Explain why.”

    “Why I killed them, you mean?”

    “Yes.”

    “Saffer and Kadin were loose ends. They were onto me the moment they showed that picture from the security camera in your office. Cruise… Cruise was a monster. She did everything for herself. She loved watching people suffer. Don’t pretend she didn’t. She drove people to death. They were so desperate to get away from her that they killed themselves. When Mo-...” I pause, then continue. “If you went home one day to find someone you cared about hanging from a fan because of what she did, you would hate her too.

    “Cruise hurt so many people. She was out of control. She needed to be put in check. The only way to do that was to do that for her. Death was the only way. I moved here to try and secure a job at the government, get into her inner circle, then take care of her.”

    I should stop talking. I’ve said too much. But I can’t. Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.

    “Then I ran into you. You didn’t like Cruise. You had a government job. You had the capability to make my plan run even more smoothly. So I befriended you, partially because you could help me, partially because I was curious. What made you dislike Cruise? You worked for her, why would you be anything but grateful for a job?

    “It didn’t take long to figure out why. You saw her as the person she was- cruel, narcissistic, greedy. Then she threatened to frame you with tax evasion. You presented the opportunity. I took it.

   “I took it because this world needs fixing, and Cruise was the source of the problems it’s plagued with.

    “The dinosaurs died and turned to dust because God decided the world needed a reform. Now, it’s not the dinosaurs that need to be destroyed by the asteroid. It’s society that needs a reform. Society that needs to be hit by an asteroid. I am the asteroid. Destructive, but in the end, it’ll fix things. It has to.”

    Sanders stares at me.

    I can’t tell if she thinks I’m insane. Probably.

    It’s a full minute before she says anything.

    “I don’t think you’ve wiped out all the dinosaurs quite yet. Maybe another asteroid would be of use.”

I am still in shock while we are disposing of the bodies.

    She’s not going to turn me in.

    She’s going to help me.

Sanders and I are making a plan to get rid of Daine when we hear it on the radio.

    “Two bodies were found inside a septic tank on the Northern edge of the Capital. They have been confirmed as private investigators Valdis Saffer and Dom Kadin.”

    We share a glance.

    “It’s assumed to be the work of the unknown assassin of Regina Cruise.” The broadcaster prattles on about how times are becoming unsafe, and if you know anything, to please contact the proper authorities.

    Well, we won’t be doing that.

    “They found them pretty quickly,” Sanders says. “Not a septic tank next time, then.”

    “No,” I agree. “Maybe something a bit less obvious.”

    “Suicide,” she suggests.

    “What?”

    “Forge a suicide note for Daine. Make it look like she killed herself. No one could pin it on us.”

    Daine, commit suicide? That’s unrealistic. What would she be unhappy about? Not having enough mansions? Not having enough emeralds? The people not suffering enough?

    I must have some sort of expression on my face, because Sanders says, “We can make up problems. Make it sound like she was really insecure. Stuff like that.”

    As unrealistic as it is, she makes a good point. And the people will believe anything you tell them.

    “Alright,” I say. “How?”

It’s been three weeks.

    We haven’t been caught.

    Sanders is forging the note, elbow-high plastic gloves on with a pencil she took from Daine’s office.

    “What do you think about this?” she asks.

    I lean over and read what she has.

    “Add some more anger. Conjure her up in your mind; this is Daine writing it. She’d have more fire.”

    Sanders grabs another sheet of paper and begins scribbling. After a minute, she sets down the pencil.

    I read it.

Dear World,

    Believe it or not, I knew about fear. I knew the way the world works. If you show weakness, the it will tear you apart. To prevent this, I hid behind confidence and impeccable clothes. Behind prestigious jobs and brisk words.

    Despite this, the world held me down.

    I was never good enough for the world.

    Not with my sharp wit. Not with my well-ironed designer jackets. I wasn’t good enough even as Dictatorial President. The world always manages to remind me of that.

    So here I am, writing this for you all to realize why I’ve done this. The answer is simple: because you forced me to.

    I have no other options. No one to turn to.

    Do not blame me for what I have done. Blame yourselves. It is your fault for cornering me at a cliff, and the only way out is to jump.

    It’s not perfect. But the people will believe it, and that’s what matters.

    “It’ll work,” I say.

    Sanders gives her knowing grin.

We’re walking to Daine’s office.

    It’s time.

    Maybe this time we won’t have to come back here for another assassination.

    Sanders and I both have guns concealed in our pockets. Like with Cruise, Daine has very little security.

    There’s a lot Daine and Cruise have in common. The most prominent are probably a tendency to be cruel and a lack of security. That’s what caused Cruise’s downfall, and it’s what will cause Daine’s.

    “So who’s Vice?” I say quietly. “Mahlah?”

    Sanders nods. “Yeah. After this, she’ll choose who the Vice is. I don’t think we need to worry about who she chooses, though. She’s alright.”

    I sure hope so.

   Three murders is too many for a few months.

    We arrive at Daine’s door. It’s the same office where Cruise died.

    It’s unlocked. Naturally.

    I open it.

Daine turns around, probably to ask what we’re doing here.

    I close the door.

    While I’m facing the door, there’s the pop of a gun going off. I whirl around.

    Sanders shot. And she hit the target.

    Daine is looking down at her abdomen in shock. Red blossoms, staining her green jacket. She staggers and falls back.

    Sanders stares at Daine, who is still breathing heavily. Again, in shock.

    This time, we don’t have a moment to spare on shock. The gun was loud, and people are probably on their way now. We can’t afford to get caught.

    “The note,” I prompt quickly.

    Sanders is still.

    I sigh and pull on a pair of gloves, then grab the note from her pocket and put it in Daine’s now limp hand, along with the unfired gun from my pocket.

   “Let’s go,” I say, pulling off the gloves and stuffing them in my pocket.

   Sanders nods, coming to her senses. “Right.”

   We leave, shutting the door behind us.

   Daine has been taken care of.

“Daine’s suicide note” has been put in every newspaper and read on every program.

    The whole world knows “her” words.

    Like with Cruise, she’s almost more popular dead.

    It’s okay, though. Mahlah is in office. She hasn’t done anything yet.

    I wonder how long that will last.

    Sanders says that Mahlah will choose her Vice in about a week, and due to one of Daine’s laws, any new viziers or consultants. We’ll know then what Mahlah’s rule will be like.

    With any luck, it will be benevolent.

“It’s me,” Sander says, smirking. “Mahlah’s made me Vice.”

    “Really? Well, congrats.”

    “Thank you.”

    “You’re welcome. What are her viziers like?”

    “There’s Flemming, he’s a bit of a hippy. Ram, he’s not pleasant, neither is Kelly, they’re friends. And there’s Reiterei, she’s not great either.”

    We get a relatively decent Dictatorial and she chooses terrible advisers. How very.

    To be honest, though, Mahlah isn’t the strongest figure. At least, not from the impression I got from her when she spoke with Sanders.

    I’m not sure why these things keep surprising me.

    People will always be predictable. Predictable means making bad decisions.

    I should really stop expecting people to change. It’ll save me some disappointment.

    “Mahlah won’t be as bad as Cruise or Daine. She’s better than them,” Sanders says. She sounds relatively confident.

    I go against my own advice. I believe her.

It’s been a week and a half.

    Mahlah’s advisers have already corrupted her.

    According to Sanders, Ram, Kelly, and Reiterei have convinced her to raise taxes. To help house government officials. Or in other words, them.

    Flemming, “the hippy,” is apparently the best of Mahlah’s advisers. Instead of begging for money, he spends the whole time talking about world peace.

    Overall, Mahlah didn’t do well choosing advisers. She needs help.

    Sanders has said that she’s trying. Mahlah just is bribed by the rest of her advisers. Together, they have more than Sanders can offer.

    I suppose we could just kill Mahlah. That would solve the problem. Sanders would be in, and she’d be able to pick a group of decent people to take over when she lost power. Eventually, though, we’ll be back where we started. An abusive leader and no end in sight.

    We cycle through the same cycle; cruel, greedy, corrupt, and decent. It’s a circle, it never ends. Cruise was cruel. Then she died and was replaced by Daine. Daine was greedy. Then she died and was replaced by Mahlah. Mahlah was corrupted. If Mahlah dies, she will be replaced by Sanders. Sanders will be decent, and maybe her successor will be too, but eventually power will fall back into cruel, greedy, and corrupt hands. It always does.

    It’s society, I realize. It’s the system.

    As long as society exists, there will be cruel, greedy, and corrupt people.  There will be people who turn to death to try and escape it. Who suspend themselves from rickety fans. People who wait for discovery and leave broken behind them.

    Mahlah isn’t the problem. Daine wasn’t the problem. Cruise wasn’t the problem.

    It was society. It was always society.

    I think I know how to fix this.

Sanders is extremely hesitant.

    She knows I’m right, though.

    “Mahlah doesn’t deserve that,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s not the strongest person, but that’s not her fault.”

    “I’m not saying it is. I’m just trying to say that this is the only way. It’s not a matter of individual character. It’s a matter of general character. Unfortunately, Mahlah is part of the group in question.”

    “She’s not like Daine or Cruise, and I know that a number of people there aren’t like them either. They don’t deserve-“

    “Maybe they don’t. But what about everyone else? Does everyone else deserve to be beaten into the ground? There are billions of people out there. We’d be sacrificing a hundred, two hundred, maybe. What’s that in comparison? It’s a sacrifice for the greater good, and it’s a sacrifice we have the ability to make.”

    “We won’t be the ones making it,” Sanders says, glaring at me. “Look, I was fine with sacrificing Daine for the greater good. She deserved what she got. So did Cruise. But there are people that don’t deserve death that you want to kill. I may be a murderer, but I’m not completely immoral. Murder isn’t always the answer.”

    I look at her.

    She’s not coming around.

    She will, though.

    “No, it’s not the answer,” I say. “Murder is the question. We both know the answer is yes. One of us just needs the courage to admit it.”

    Sanders shakes her head and leaves.

I’m doing it. Whether Sander is with me or not.

    I’ve already begun preparations.

    Flyers set up in the main government buildings advertising some sort of event all the government employees will want to attend. Gather them all in one room. Have pipe bombs connected to a timer concealed in the room and in surrounding hallways. Get a safe distance away from the building. Watch the smoke pour out the doors as the building explodes. Frame it as a terrorist attack. Get into power myself to rebuild. Not just the building, but society.

    She has about a month to change her mind.

    I hope she does.

    I want her to help me rebuild the world. She has the capability to do so.

    She just needs to swallow her conscience.

There’s one week until the world is reborn through fire and ash when Sanders corners me.

    “I’ll have you know,” she says, “I’ll turn you over- for the murders of Cruise, Daine, Saffer, and Kadin- and for conspiring against the government if you go through with it. I’ve seen those posters that have been showing up in the buildings. Mahlah said that she saw that private service guy, Lüge, around. Apparently he’s on general security instead of private service.” Sanders looks at me, eyebrows raised. “I know you’re behind it.”

    With any other person, I would simply tie up my loose ends or dismiss the threat. Sanders is different. I don’t want to kill her, but she can be ruthless when she wants to. I’ve seen that side of her.

    I sigh and give her a dangerous smile. “Look. You turn me over for Cruise, Daine, Saffer, and Kadin, I’ll mention to the police that you helped me dispose of Saffer and Kadin’s bodies, forged Daine’s ‘suicide note,’ and were the one to pull the trigger on Daine. Who has the upper hand?”

    I don’t like threatening her like this, but it has to be done. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from death row.

    Sanders says nothing. She can’t argue. She knows I would tell the police her role in it the same way I know she would tell them what I’ve done.

    We are silent.

    “I’m watching you,” Sanders says at last. Her tone lacks in venom.

    “I know,” I reply lightly.

She hasn’t changed her mind.

    I’m in the main government building, setting the bombs up. The hall is clear for event preparation.

    All the employees think this is a promotional event. They think that Mahlah will be adding another member to her board of advisers. Mahlah thinks she’s promoting someone as well.

    How wrong they all are.

    In less than two hours, no one will be promoted. Everyone will be dead.

    The only one who suspects anything is Sanders. She won’t say anything, though.

    I just hope that she has enough common sense to not be in the building when it explodes.

    I finish strapping down the last bomb twenty minutes later. It takes thirty seconds to set the timer.

    The asteroid will hit in an hour and a half.

One hour.

    Sanders has been watching the building carefully. I’m drinking a slushie and snacking on toasted corn across the street, watching her watch the building.

    She hasn’t noticed me. That’s probably for the better.

    A few people have started to enter the white-pillared building, walking briskly. Whether they’re there for the “promotion” or another reason doesn’t matter. They’ll all add to the body count.

Thirty minutes.

    Sanders is pacing like she does when she’s anxious or alert. She hardly seems to notice the people passing her to enter the building.

    They’re dressed in their nicest business suits and dresses, holding purses and briefcases.

    I haven’t seen so many people in the same place her in the Capital. It almost feels alive.

    The aliveness here is a temporary illusion, though. Soon the street will be dead again. In a good way, this time. Not because of a curfew or fear.

    I slip inside with the crowd.

    Sanders doesn’t notice that I’ve walked past her to check on the bombs one last time.

One minute.

    That’s how long until the building becomes a funnel of smoke, fire, and ash.

    How long until I can rebuild the world.

    Make life beautiful.

    Fix things.

    Fifty seconds.

    No one is going in or out.

    The street is cold and dead like the night I first got here. The only living, breathing thing on it is Sanders.

    Thirty three.

    She’s within twenty feet of the building. That’s too close. Better than inside the building, but still dangerous.

    Twenty one.

    Should I call out? Tell her to get away?

    I would. She doesn’t have to die. She could live.

    But would she go in the building? Tell everyone to get out?

    Fourteen.

    That would land me with wasted pipe bombs, a mob of angry government workers, and a one-way ticket to death row.

    Nine.

    I should call out.

   Eight.

   All it would take would be a simple shout.

   Seven.

   She couldn’t run in with so little time.

   Six.

   Could she?

   Five.

   Four.

   Three.

   Two.

   I call out.

   She turns.

   One.

The asteroid hits.

    Sanders isn’t fast enough.

    The building explodes with a boom. It collapses upon itself in a flash of unforgiving fire.

    I lose sight of Sanders as it falls.

    She is lost to the creation of this new world.

    The fire roars, burning brighter by the moment. Smoke billows up into the unusually clear night sky.

    The destruction is beautiful.

    Not as beautiful as the new world will be, but it is a striking image.

    I stand and watch the old world burn.

Only once the fire has become ember does it hit me.

    I’ve created a new world. I had to burn down the old one to do so.

    And now I’m seeing what it cost.

    It finally begins to sink in that Sanders is gone. She gave her life for the cause.

    Maybe it wasn’t intentional. Maybe she didn’t want to. But she did. She’s helped this world.

    I try to focus on that, not the fact that that was her downfall.  

    The sound of shifting concrete reaches my ears.

    I freeze.

    There’s a cough.

    I pull off my sooty jacket and walk towards noise, ready to strangle whoever survived.

    The ruins of the building are smoking as I step over pieces of rubble and blackened bodies.

    It only takes a few seconds to reach the one survivor.

    Covered in ash, Verity Sanders is standing up. Her eyebrows are singed and clothes are ripped. She’s alive.

    I look at her.

    She looks at me.

    “That was your plan, wasn’t it?” she says, “Blow them up. Save the world.”

    I nod.

    “Are you doing to look for survivors?”

    “No. I’m going to look for a broadcaster.”

    “Why?”

    “Someone needs to tell the world about the terrorist attack that killed most of the government workers. Are you coming?”

    Sanders sighs. “What do I have to lose?”

    I knew she’d come back.

    We walk out of the old world and step into the new one.

We are standing in front of a black building with fiery orange windows. The new government building.

    The sky is grey as the smoke that poured from the old building.

    Sanders is standing a few feet in front of me, hand on a book, as she swears to lead the country to the best of her ability.

    I know she will.

    She finishes repeating the words the men tell her to. Then she turns to me.

    I allow a small smile.

    I am triumphant.

    It’s time to rebuild.