"Loose ends. Always too many loose ends," Daevian murmured. It had been nearly six months since "Ari" had been tasked with integrating the STM networks. Truth be told, Daevian had finished the necessary work for that task within the first three days. He spent the remaining time allocating the resources needed to orchestrate the grand "punchline."

  Daevian paced the length and breadth of his custom facility. It was far removed from the others he had prepared, giving him much-needed space to think about how he would tie up loose ends. The General was easy. That was worked out as part of his plan. The problem was Nik. Pausing before a pair of STMs, Daevian's eyes lingered on a large, veiled object.

  "I should have dealt with him in the conference room," he ruminated. There was no telling where Nik was at the moment. He must have been up to something because he virtually disappeared from the network, but it's too late to change that directly now. Daevian knew he would have to bank on his carefully constructed plan to tie up this untidy loose end.

  "Sloppy," he mused, "too sloppy for my taste." There was little to do about it, so Daevian stopped pacing and strolled back to the terminal where he had just finished his project fail-safes. All that was left now was to initiate.

  "I wonder if I will laugh." He mused. Did God laugh when he put the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden? After some contemplation, Daevian settled on the idea that God, in all probability, must have been convulsed in laughter. The Forbidden Fruit was a wondrously cruel comedic tool. Without it, humanity wouldn't have started down its self-destructive path in the first place.

  "We will likely laugh," came the echo of another voice from a separate terminal. A clone of Daevian poked his head over the monitor. "But that's not the moment's most entertaining joke, is it?"

  "Yes, I agree." Daevian turned to face his clone. "When will we betray each other?"

  "I don't know, but I can't wait to see it play out." His clone smiled. "I can't imagine anything besides hilarity seeing you die by my hand or vice versa.”

  "Can you fathom the whirl of thoughts I'd encounter, watching your soulless eyes witness the life drain from my own? Truly priceless." Daevian wanted to chuckle at the mere thought. This concept of Compasso that Ariel had come up with was an excellent way to pass the time while Daevian worked out the kinks of the Eschaton.

  "I particularly like the impending question that will lie with us for eternity." His clone savored the sentence as if he had just tasted a succulent snack.

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  Daevian savored the thought with a sinister grin. "Which of us came first?"

  Now, merely a rendition of consciousness with a shared identity, Daevian contemplated the elaborate scenario his progenitor had created. It was a puzzle packed with the peculiarities of a precise plan.

  The original Daevian had synchronized two STMs to work in unison. Then, meticulously using chloroform, he rendered himself unconscious at the exact moment the STMs were activated. This procedure was repeated tediously to ensure perfect synchronization. What followed was a masterpiece of comedy, a stroke of genius unappreciated by those of mundane cognition.

  After the STMs successfully created two identical, unconscious copies, the conscious Daevian ended his life.

  The clone could only speculate on the thoughts and emotions of the original in those fleeting moments. After all, when the clones awoke, the original Daevian lay dead in a pool of blood, his neck garroted by the knife in his limp hand.

  Was there a sense of triumph, a sardonic smile at the paradox he had created? Or a quiet resignation to the fate he had chosen? Most likely, he was gurgle-laughing through the splurts of blood running down his body.

  The act was a beautiful testament to his newly acquired humor in all its complexity. It was a joke that transcended the ordinary, playing on the concept of identity itself.

  No, it couldn't be just a joke. It was a performance blurring the lines between creator and creation, original and duplicate. God has no clear origin, so why should he? Before he could contemplate further, the other Daevian spoke.

  "Time's almost upon us," he said, looking down at his watch. Daevian glanced at the STM between their workstations. Within its tight confines, a large covered object rested quietly. With a smile, Daevian began the final preparations. As he worked, he allowed himself to muse, letting his speculations reward the last several months of effort.

  "Entropy, it's a curse, isn't it?" Daevian mused, gazing at the package. "It breeds chaos, like a perfect breeding ground for humanity's darker side. It's like a cosmic handicap from God, letting us pick our path."

  His clone nodded, resting his elbows on his desk. "We try to impose order, right? Laws, governments, and societal norms. But they're flawed. Laws can be twisted, governments corrupt, and the clever ones in society? They often skirt around these rules."

  "In a realm like God's, there's no need for such constructs. Pure order, no entropy. They call it heaven, and what do we have? Hellish chaos."

  "If humanity could just overcome this 'choice' dilemma, imagine what we could achieve," the first Daevian continued. "It's tragic, really. So many are lost in their own chaotic spirals."

  The clone sighed. "We're at a crossroads. Either we take control, or we crumble. It's a heavy burden, standing up to the very notion of divine will."

  "Yeah, but it's on us, isn't it?" Daevian replied. "One day, they'll see. We're giving the world what it sorely needs."

  The two clones turned to the shrouded object in the STM. A heavy silence enveloped the room as Daevian's finger hovered over his keyboard's "Y" key. On his screen, a single command prompt blinked innocently.

  Initiate Reset? [Y/N]

  …?