A/N: A plot bunny/inspiration that arrived at 2:12 AM. Don't forget to review!
Everyone was at his funeral.
He had expected it be empty, for people to realize the monster he was, but everyone was there. They were crying, mourning the person who cured the globe, and destroyed it while he was at it.
They drowned in the tears of the world that was supposed to die long ago, but was instead kept on the brink of destruction. Replacing humanity with surgery was okay, because who really needed humanity anyway? As long as the addictions, and the incisions, and the scalpels and the sluts and the heartless were there, the world would survive.
Because that's what really mattered anyway, right?
It didn't matter the blood was shed, the tears that were shed, the hope that was shed. It was survival of the fittest, and the fittest was Rotti Largo.
But now he was dead, and no one knew if he took his horrible, perfect world with him.
They would, though. Although no one really wanted to know what they were wishing for.
Everyone mourns the wicked.