"Don't you feel guilt? Some kind of... Some kind of responsibility? 'I have become death', or something like that?"
I'm pretty sure I'm nuts. Having a conscious is all fine and dandy until it climbs out of your ear, grows about six feet, and Slav squats at the foot of your mattress to berate you about dooming your entire species to nonexistence.
On another note, I should get a bedframe next paycheck.
"Humans will literally disappear from the face of the Earth. Dictionary literally. Literal literally."
I glance at my digital clock, but it's been frozen at 3:01 AM for the lamer half of forever and I have this crazy hunch that I'm stuck outside of time and space solely to "learn a lesson".
"So between murdering about four billion living breathing people and committing presumably painless genocide..." I'm talking to a figment of my imagination about a button that doesn't exist. Lovely.
I peer out the corner of my eye at the glowing box pulsating beneath my socks. Pinch the bridge of my nose and attempt to fend off a brain aneurysm.
"...You want me to destroy already existing families and shit? Kill people with ambitions and friends and... Whatever? How's that fair?"
"It's a question of morality."
"And I answered the question!" I flop onto my side and cover my head with a pillow, but it's still 3:01 AM and I can hear my conscious breathing. Guy's got a real weight problem. He's heavy as shit.
"Don't you think-"
"Go away."
"But the human race will-"
"Go away."
"Think of all the marvels and betterment of society-"
Nuts. Bat shit. God only knows why I haven't sliced off my lobe and sent it to the love of my life yet.
I sit up and massage my eyelids.
"Okay. Can I change my decision?"
"Well, yes, but it won't really change the outcome... Since... You already pressed the button..."
"Then why are we talking about this? You asked a question, I answered. What is this, the, 'you're-probably-a-genocidal-piece-of-shit' show?"
"It's just, you ought to feel something."
"And I'm sure I would, you know, if this was real, and you were real, and I didn't have to go to work tomorrow. You know what it's like delivering pizzas to trap houses in the middle of the night? There's fucking puzzles all over the front lawns, man."
I flop back onto my bed and stare at the clock.
"Que Sierra, Que Sarah, or some shit like that."
3:02 AM.