The countdown read 0:00:02:25 in digits the height of a man. Seconds sloughed off the timer, Ouroboros preparing to shed its skin. Aden cracked his knuckles.

In front of the timer was a pedestal holding a single button. It had never been pressed.

The room was otherwise bare; no furniture, a single slab door, no windows. Barely more than a closet. But from this humble room, Aden would soon rule the world.

A hidden speaker chimed. Who dared intrude? The call pop-up overlayed the timer on the giant screen. Carson. The boy always did have more guts than brains. Lynch connected, audio only.

"Carson, how delightful. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He tapped the screen, hunting for the correct app. What had he called it? Obedience? No. Compliance. There it was.

"Sir, I–" Carson faltered. Started again. "Sir, are you sure... That is to say, is this the legacy you want? 'The man who burned the world.'

"It's not too late to change course, to create instead of destroy. You could be the benevolent titan who ushered in the age of plenty." His voice gained confidence as he dug his grave. Ever the fool.

"I understand your trepidation Carson; weak men alway fear greatness. You are wrong though. This is an act of creation. The fire of Petbe is a crucible to burn away impurities; I forge a new mankind today. A people ready to conquer the stars.

"Your concern over my legacy is touching, but you needn't worry further. Your work is done." Lynch found Carson's name on the 'Compliance' panel, tapped the corresponding 'X' and impatiently jabbed the confirmation dialog.

Carson made a gurgling noise followed by a strangled whimper. Then came a thump and the line went quiet. Lynch nodded to himself and hung up, then disabled all notifications. Twenty seconds left. Thankfully that imbecile hadn't tarnished the whole affair.

Lynch's palms sweat. Blood thumped in his ears. His body hummed with delicious anticipation he hadn't felt since... well, since ever really. His first clumsy trysts were nothing against the colossal power he would wield.

He breathed in deeply, centering himself. "Be here now," he murmured. Awareness suffused his body, calm pushed out to its extremities. He felt the rough stone of the floor and the warm plastic under his fingertip, smelled the tang of recycled air.

The countdown finished. Lynch exhaled and pushed the button. The numbers disappeared, replaced by a dizzying grid of video feeds, a thousand tiny windows into the world.

Ant-sized people rushed in and out of buildings that would soon be rubble, wrote memos no one would read, discussed futures that had just been foreclosed. Really no different from any other workday, Lynch mused, viewed on a large enough timescale.

He pulled a mat from the corner, unfurled it in the center of the room and meditated. For two hours he simply existed, mind empty, the only sound the passing of his breath.

As one the videos changed. The ant-people stopped and looked up. Some pointed. Others screamed. Then all were bathed in blinding light. Lynch squeezed his eyes shut against the blaze. When he opened them, the room was dark.