A/N: A rather obvious (cliched) AU in which India does not kill Charlie. Instead, they travel the world and continue their murder-spree.
1.
"the war of all against all"
The world is a pollution.
Squirming.
He hears it—them—calling. Sharp, shrill and raspy, the sibilance of serpents rising. They wake. They scream. Clever, little claws and poisoned teeth. They devour him whole.
He giggles (it tickles). He is mad (frazzled).
And this here is the sweet, bitter-dry, faceless end.
He careens hell-bent into an explosion. And thinks:
Someday, the world will end. Someday, he will expunge it of disease, of rot, of joyless laughs and fitting betrayals. Promises. Half-broken, yet-unformed. All of it, gone.
The world begs to be killed.
One by one, he will oblige.
...
These are the rules for utopia—
(whistling, he imagines a place of beauty, of wonder)
—utopia does not lie.
He coughs, resists the sudden inundation of tears. Crybaby, mockity mock. Instead, swift and elegant, he decapitates the man. And immediately, the voice stops.
Good.
Hey, good job kid. Real good work.
You're doing well. Real well.
...
India's face full of despair. She is bloodied and bruised. He watches, silent and cautious—it's pointless. This one will be dead soon. And there will be no fun for him (not this time around).