Quetzalcoatl sat atop the facsimile Eiffel Tower, overlooking the burning ruins of Las Vegas, his tail coiled around the latticework of the tower’s uppermost spire. Phil and Bill sat precariously on either side of him, without tails and huddled against the spire, whimpering slightly.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Quetzalcoatl.
“The neon… contrasted against the… inky darkness of night?” replied Phil. “I suppose it does have a certain… aesthetic quality that some might…”
“I meant all the burning prostitutes.”
“Oh.”
Las Vegas had not been in ruins or on fire until shortly after Quetzalcoatl arrived. It had, in fact, been the most prosperous city in the world from the third apocalypse onward. If there was one thing people loved to do during the end of the world, it was panic. If there was another, it was fuck. And if there was a third, it was gamble away their children’s college funds while doing the first two.
“Do we have to… sit up here, Quetzalcoatl?” asked Bill, searching for something to hold on to. “It’s quite… high.”
“No,” said Quetzalcoatl, “of course not.”
Quetzalcoatl pushed Bill off the edge of the Eiffel Tower.
“What… Why would…” stammered Phil.
“Quiet,” replied Quetzalcoatl, peering downward, “he hasn’t hit the ground yet.”
Phil’s grip on the tower doubled in intensity. So did his heartbeat, the fear in his eyes, the certainty he was going to die, and his regret at never buying a parachute or learning how to fly.
“Oh, there we go. Landed on a Japanese guy. They are never going to get that out of the sidewalk.”
The latticework dug deeply enough into Phil’s hand to draw blood.
“So, anyway,” said Quetzalcoatl, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you up here this evening.”
Phil responded by staring blankly in abject terror.
“Well, at least tell me you understand the gravity of the situation…”
Nothin’.
“C’mon, quit being such a dick, Phil. I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
It took a few minutes, but Phil eventually remembered how to breathe regularly again. Then he remembered he was sitting atop a half-scaled Eiffel Tower with a sociopathic Aztec god in the middle of a burning city and had to go through the whole gamut of physiological responses to panic all over again.
The cycle repeated itself a few times, actually.
“You done?” asked Quetzalcoatl.
Phil responded with, “Buh…”
“That’s still more syllables than you’ve given me in the last hour. I’m willing to call it a win. Let’s get down to business.”
“Guh…”
“Look, Phil, I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I carried your ass up here to talk strategy. If it wasn’t for you and your… people, I might not be here right now. I figure I at least owe it to you to hear your opinion before I go ahead and do whatever I damn well please anyway. But if you’re not actually going to contribute, you can just as easily join Bill down on the street.”
“No, no. Strategy good,” elocuted Phil. “What’s… the plan?”
“Well, for starters, I’m thinking we should probably burn down the world.”
“I’m… I’m sorry?”
“It really doesn’t get any simpler than that, Phil.”
“Why would we… burn down the world? I thought we were trying to… save it from itself… free it from the greed and the… bureaucracy. I thought we were… giving society hope… an open-ended future…”
“Yeah, about that…”
“Even… even if you don’t… if your goals…” continued Phil, his synapses not firing quite as quickly as they probably should have been. “Murdering everyone just doesn’t seem productive.”
Quetzalcoatl pushed Phil off the Eiffel Tower.
“I don’t know,” said Quetzalcoatl, “I seem to be producing corpses with surprising efficiency.”
Quetzalcoatl looked from side to side and shrugged.
“Of course, now I’m sitting up here talking to myself,” he continued. “I must look crazy.”