"To serve the world, we must grow deaf to the self." Death:
:Down in the deepest kingdoms of the sea, where there is no light, there lives a type of creature with no brain and no eyes and no mouth. It does nothing but live and put forth petals of perfect crimson where none are there to see. It is nothing but a tiny yes
in the night. And yet... And yet... It has enemies who bear it a vicious, unbending malice, who wish not only for its tiny life to be over but also that it had never existed. Are you with me so far? Susan:
Well, yes, but— Death:
Good. Now, imagine what they think of humanity
And Tiffany saw it, like a Hogswatch card: birds frozen to their twigs, horses and cows standing still in their fields, frozen grass like daggers, no smoke from any chimney; a world without death because there was nothing left to die, and everything glittering like tinsel.
Now the sun turned red in a burning sky. Tiffany drifted through air like warm oil into the searing calm of deep deserts, where even camels die. There was no living thing. Nothing moved except ash. "She Who Lives In Her Name still hates the gods and their children, but her plans for the mortal world rarely express this hatred. She wishes to see the world become as she would have created it, a thing of absolute order and regulation, without the freedoms and insubordination that corrupt its hierarchies today. She wishes to rub the gods noses in the knowledge that the world is already somewhat hers." Evil? No, no, I will not accept that. They are conditioned simply to survive. They can survive only by becoming the dominant species. When all other life-forms are suppressed, when the Daleks are the supreme rulers of the universe - then, you will have peace. Wars will end. They are power not of evil, but of good.
on his creations, Doctor Who
, "Genesis of the Daleks"
You are proud of your emotions? Tenth Doctor:
Oh, yes. Cyber-Controller:
Then tell me, Doctor: have you known grief, and rage, and pain? Doctor:
Yes. Yes, I have. Cyber-Controller:
And they hurt? Doctor: Oh
, yes. Cyber-Controller:
I could set you free. Would you not want that? A life without pain? Doctor:
You might as well kill me.
The Weaver allows the Gauntlet to be open just enough for a tiny trickle of spirit to reach through both ways. The physical and spirit worlds are kept barely alive, almost on life support. This is the world of the science-fiction dystopia: few people dream, few aspire to change things, and society functions like clockwork. Human nature itself is almost unrecognizable; only a few people feel emotions to any degree, and even then, they are incapable of the same great acts of beauty and cruelty. There are, of course, no supernatural elements in the world at all - no werewolves, no undead, no magic. The years pass like clockwork, the seasons so regular that after a while, it's impossible to tell whether or not time is passing at all. The universe continues to function, but it's hard to say whether this is any sort of mercy.
If the Apprehension Engine
is incorrectly calibrated, it exposes the mind to too much knowledge
, and the mind in turn determines the world. In perfect perception we find the end of uncertainty, of choice. Without choice, no consciousness. Without an uncertain future, no future at all. After a certain point, it is possible that this process would become self-perpetuating. What is possible would cease, and be replaced by... immutable history. Ice instead of water. Life would become Newtonian. Clockwork.
This is what Shem Shem Tsiem
desires from me. From the machine. He wishes a great, appalling determination. He will know the universe into a kind of extinction. His union with God
will not be complete until he has ended what God begun. Somehow, this catastrophe is what he most desires
. He will, unless prevented, destroy everything, not just now, but forever. Our universe will drift in the void, a solid, changeless block.
A little blank-faced nonentity
bringing peace and prettiness, ending the rubble. Where there is discord, it brings peace. Not even of death, but of nihil. Paris will be an empty city of charming houses.
This is what the Fuhrer
's self-portrait proclaims.