Occupying the void outside of time, I survey my work. When I created this universe, there was perfection. But something changed, and I can’t find the error. There is a rotten disease that has infected all that begins. Who am I? I am the God-King. I transcend time. I do not know my origin, except that I am eternal. My creation cannot comprehend my majesty nor show me reverence. With just a mere snap of my fingers I can crush any planet, system, or the entire universe as it is known. The darkness I see cannot be left to flourish. It only brings me more pain. And so I crush planet by planet where life has begun, folding space like a simple piece of paper in order to reach into their ignorant existence and assert my dominion. Their screams are but dust in the wind–of no consequence. To remind me of this rage, I place the remains of each darkened planet, mangled and broken, into my honeycomb. Yet I cannot reconcile what is happening. I love my creation, but hate what they have become. Are they just a reflection? "Bobby! Stop daydreaming and play the game!" invades my ear canals… Shocked back to reality, or what I think is reality, I find myself sitting in front of the TV, controller in hand. Logged out of the game, I re-enter my gamer handle: The Collector. The server reloads. A new world begins to burn.