Ye shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil. Ye shall be as Gods. Gods ye shall be as. As Gods ye shall be. Be shall Gods you as. No, that last one didn't make sense. The words weren't in order. But this was good. There was no order, there was nothing such as order. Order did not exist, existence only lived for disorder. Ye shall be as Gods. It was by this creed he had found himself on a crowded Tokyo subway.
Order was ordure, it was shit. Rules made by foul fellows floundering in their filth. Dualities were found in all. Discipline was simply the lack of anarchy. The truth was there for who searched, knowing good and evil.
He had trained his face to remain impassive, bored. He walked through the subway unnoticed, his small bag wasn't checked by any guards. He timed it to be the last to step onto the train, squeezing himself between two young women. One wore a skirt so short it exposed her knees for all the world to see. Harlot, whore! She will pay for her sins, ye shall be as Gods.
The other refused to acknowledge his existence. It was her lack of attention, her selfishness, that would lead to what would be done. What had to be done. She was looking at her new shoes, the old one's sitting comfortably boxed up in a small bag she held. Her obsession with this crisp, pungent new leather, it's whiteness faking purity was a trap, ignorance. Knowing evil and good. Ye shall be as Gods.
He removed a hand off of the bag to fasten the lowest button of his suit jacket. This wasn't supposed to be done. In Japan, appearance was very important, everything had to be perfect, mechanized. This faux-paux would be looked on as highly embarrassing by any of his fellow businessmen. Embarrassment was pride, dualities exist in all things. Difference broke uniform rules and restructured them. Destruction was inevitable, Shiva was Christ. He was Christ. But Shiva was not him. AB, BC, A/C. It was mathematic. Ye shall be as Gods.
He had been militarized. His education had been creative defecation. He was nothing if not a cog in a greater machine. The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor. Turn the bolt, drive the screw. Don't be different. Work hard. Fun is pain. What is the value of life? Work? Or to bring down this machine around him?
Destruction should not be feared, it was natural. The world must be cleansed so it could restart. Death was life, destruction was creation. No one without the other, dualities in all things. He would bring Armageddon. Armageddon was heaven, existence was hell. And good knowing evil.
In his suitcase was a container, in his pocket a screwdriver. The sharp instrument was simply there to poke a hole in the canister. The canister was simply filled with sarin gas. Simply sarin. Sarin simply? Was the canister filled or was the rest of the world empty?
With a sizzling hiss and a click the door closed inches from his face. He didn't blink. The screwdriver jostled slightly in his pocket. He kept both hands on the case. If it fell, it fell. Karma was Karma, and Mohammad is his Prophet. What? No. That's not right. But wrong is right, so said the night.
He enjoyed language: poetry, rhyming, especially breaking down words. He turned language into math, speech into numbers and patterns. Everything was able to be expressed as a number, numbers could be subtracted or erased. He would clear language of emotion like a teacher clears a chalkboard.
The date was March 20, 2015. The twentieth. Twenty years after the first attacks. In the millennium of 20xx. The date March. 03. 15 divided by 3 is five. Five syllables. Ye. Shall. Be. As. Gods.
The jostling in the subway car was irritating to him. They were overcrowded. Everything in the city was overcrowded. The streets, the shops. Humor was overcrowded. Can't have too many people laughing. Not that there was anything funny to laugh at.
Passengers were silent. There was no talking, just the rustling of newspapers, the tap-tapping of hand held video games. There was no life here.
He chanced a look up at where security camera's used to be. About ten years ago he would've never been able to do this. Terrorism had put the world on edge. But after a few years, Japan had found itself unwilling to face the fear of the unknown terrorist. It grew tired of watching, and had gradually phased out the security. Like everything was fine. But it wasn't! He couldn't let it be. He had never stopped watching. And what he saw he hated. People were living normal lives as though everything was fine with everyone. Well it wasn't. Good and evil knowing.
Little girls, walking down the street swinging toy pandas and cramming stickers onto tiny backpacks. They would have to die.
Elder businessmen who had forgotten the lessons of their ancestors, who'd lost their will to fight and integrated into the techno-capitalist machine. They would have to die.
Young lovers, who had the audacity to flirt their fortune in his face. No, the whores, the gamblers, the killers, and the innocents alike. They were all tainted by their original sin. Original sin. Adam and Eve. Ye shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil. And they would die.
He would not ask their opinion, for the masses had no choice. It was his choice to make for them, he'd been called upon. He was selfish. He was selfless. All things in dualities. In dualities all things. Dualities in all things. Things in all dualities? No. Yes.
The train rumbled through the dark tunnel. He could see nothing out the window in front of him but the whizzing passage of kanji. He could barely read them. With one hand he lackadaisically undid the latches of the bag he was holding. No one was looking. There was no room to move. He bumped the people around him (there was no room!), as he shifted to reach his effects. But no one noticed. He opened the bag. No one was looking. He removed the canister. And now! Now, he got glances, weird looks, worried faces of concern. A few more seconds, he thought, reading the signs that were flying past. With an effort to fight past his suit jacket, he reached into his pants pocket and removed the screwdriver, steadying it over the container of toxin. sdoGllahsebeY.
The world exploded before him. Sunlight, blue sky, green grass. For just a few seconds the train lurched out from underground to breach the surface. The warm sunlight kissed his face. Each blade of grass cheerily waved at him. The ants stopped their busy work to stare at the train and wish him luck. He could almost taste the air, the crisp, clean, air that eluded him through an inch of fiberglass. But it was just a glimpse, just a tease. Evil, good, and knowing.
He addressed the train, not looking at any of them though they all stared at him, "Have a pleasant morning." His voice was high and soft. The sentiment was heartfelt. He smiled warmly, the grin of a boy who just got his first date. He wished he didn't have to, these people had the capability to love. Why couldn't they love him? He loved them all.
The screwdriver was stabbed in and tore the canister asunder. The train plunged back into darkness. The gas was odorless and colorless. Not that any of them would be able to see anyways. None of them could see! The gas could've been a rainbow and smelled like a bowl of miso soup and it wouldn't have breached their strongholds of their minds. Apparently, the Armageddon shall be neither seen nor smelt.
They must be allowed to know, that small courtesy had at least been earned, "I have released a large dosage of sarin gas." he announced to the shocked compartment, "We will none of us live. I profusely apologize and I love all of you."
The gas was flowing throughout the train freely now. Passengers were freaking out, tearing at him, shrieking, shouting. They'd woken up, he'd roused them. This was Japan, the fury, the passion, he'd missed this. They were alive just in time to die. But this death would be their birth. The Yin and Yang would circle, the same but different.
In minutes their eyes would start tearing up, they would have difficult breathing. Their lungs would start crying and their eyes wouldn't be able to breath. Then they would vomit, and shit, and spasm. And then they would die.
The other passengers were beating him now. They were hugging him now. Perhaps to death. Life. Tears rained onto his face, their wetness being the first real thing he felt on this train. But they weren't from the blows. Nor from the gas.
Ye shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil.