The next day, humankind will develop further. The next day, humankind will develop faster. Intelligence, genetics, technology all grow exponentially; for the moment it is all for the cause of benefit. There are newfangled machines, tiny, tiny machines which may help a medical patient, may prevent death. There are different machines, larger ones to help humankind to relax, to unravel their minds in order to think of more ways to develop.
Logically, there will come a point at which development will cease to cause benefit, for all the benefits shall have been satisfied.
That which science acknowledges, yet is intangible to human hands will be penetrated, maimed by the orderly and sharp nails of humankind's hands: time.
Humankind recognizes time to be powerful for it "cures all wounds" among other outlandish claims. Nature dictates humankind to be a dangerous species: in that its curiosity and crave for progress spreads a dark falling hazard upon all, with its point of gravity placed upon humankind itself.
Time shall not tamper and must not be tampered with. Fiction has tampered with the image, a reflection of time burnt onto a white canvas.
Suddenly, a new machine.
Suddenly, a dark fuel.
A loud and abrasive tear.
Time has been punctured, and there will be no adhesive strong enough to reattached it's weakly limping tatters.
There are two women: Catherine Smith, Setsuna Mizugawa; and two men: David Hart, Abel Tenant.
There is one capsule-shaped ship named Osmanthus.
The four rebellious entities violated the taboo of existence, violated the guardian of life, violated reality. They flew, seamlessly, unwavering and coldly, through time's ever-growing fetus. The four heretics did not repent.
Therefore, time must perish. Flawless time has been eradicated, a blemish has occurred which threatens to spread, a sepsis that will create a twisting tesseract of putrid pain.
Aboard Osmanthus, the four entities attempt to understand the stationary blankness in which they stand. They are frightened, terrestrial knowledge has not prepared them for this. Time has vanished, there is no more life, there is no more matter, there is no more space. All which remains is the transparent pocket in which the four heretics and their ship will inhabit.
A shattered fragment of time dwells within that pocket to keep the four humans speaking, living and thinking.
A woman says, "We have destroyed infinity."
Then a man says, "We have tampered with existence."
The other woman says, "We are still living."
And the other man says, "for this is our punishment."
Four thin, intelligent heretics sat down atop their ship, watched a blank colorlessness, never aging, never-dying, never moving; for this is their punishment. Their singular existence darkly pained them.
After eternity time's final fragment will collapse and vanish.
Existence, time, reality, are one, to be catastrophically annulled.