Emwitobway labored deep into the night, feverishly constructing his redemption. Banished for his ideas, for following the intellectual paths of the white man, he was alone. He worked many nights, and many days, and the work was hard. When the work was done, he saw his creation, and it was All Good.

Proud of himself and his creation, he returned to his people. Those who had cast him out were, at first, wary. They crowded around him in a circle and beheld his creation. They saw that it was All Good. And so it was. Emwitobway brought his creation to his tent. Then, showered in praise, he joined his people in the joyous celebration of his return.

When the creation awoke early the next morning, it sat bolt upright and its opened eyes were flooded with images beheld for the first time. It slowly made its way to its feet, then to the tent's entrance. Casting back the flap, its senses were filled with information and stimuli beyond imagination. Children playing, and women singing as they went about their daily chores. The scents of food, grass, and filth. Even the taste of the air was new. The creation witnessed all this, and knew it was All Good. But was it not itself All Good? Something was wrong. For the first time, the creature looked within itself deeply, and it beheld chaos and a constant struggle. And so he knew himself, and he knew his mission on this planet which he knew not the name of.

All Good walked through the tent flap and out into the settlement. He grabbed the first person to walk by roughly, and by the neck. In his iron grip, he turned the adolescent male about, this way and that, unconsciously crushing his windpipe. When he had learned all he could from his study, he casually tossed the youth aside, breaking the neck of the discarded in the process. He moved to study the next subject.

All Good made his progress through the tribe, but not without notice. Everywhere, there was spilt blood, women screaming, mangled bodies, children crying. The people ran from him in fear. And All Good laughed, because for the first time the world outside matched the world within; the universe was in balance and he was happy. It was All Good.

"It's like this, officer," began the short, greasy club owner. "I hired this new guy, this big Lug to be my new bouncer." Unconsciously, the club owner mimicked a man twice his stature, puffing out his chest and raising his shoulders. He resembled a small simian trying to scare off a predator, and it was all the policeman could do to stifle a chuckle. "He was supposed to start tonight, being it's the first of August and all, and I like to keep my books strictly legit, y'know? I color within the lines, dig?"

"Lug showed up for work at sunset, still feeling unsure of himself. Certainly, he had the physique for it, but could he really use physical means to eject some violent, rowdy drunk? According to the terms of his newest employment, he'd have to. Otherwise, what was a big thug like him good for? His mind continued to wander, perhaps harkening to distant lands, when he was snapped back into reality by a query from the handsome club owner. 'So, big guy, are you ready for your first night of work?' he asked. 'Yes, sir,' Lug docilely replied, dazzled by the managerial prowess of the club's owner. 'Good man. Now get out there and do exactly like I told you.' At his boss' bidding, the big man went outside. There, quite the line had formed. This is, after all, the hottest joint in town. At go time, he began letting people into the club one by one, screening for the best of clientele. It was not such a bad job after all. Then the trouble started.

"This one guy, who calls himself Prometheus, showed up demanding entrance. He had no ID, no membership card, and no money. Of course, Lug wouldn't let him in, as well-trained as he was. 'Sir, I am going to have to ask you to please step out of the line and let the other people through,' the bouncer told him. 'No way!' shouted Prometheus, and he started waving a gun in the air. What does a guy like Prometheus need with a gun? Who knows? Then the gun goes off."

BANG!

"Officer?" asked the nightclub owner of the smoky darkness where the policeman had stood raptly listening, mere moments before. He had since slumped unceremoniously to the dusty ground of the alley, his notepad fanning like a peacock's tailfeathers and his pencil rolling noisily away. The club owner followed it with his eyes until it and they were stopped by a man holding a gun pointed directly at him.

"No witnesses," was the last thing that he heard, as a small piece of lead tore spiralling through his brain.