Refining the Entire Universe

One sentence silenced everyone.

A long time passed.

"God?" The bald old man laughed. The sound was sharp and grating, like fingernails scraping over glass. "You believe that? You fucking believe that too?"

Gold-Rimmed Glasses said nothing, but his silence was an answer in itself.

The bald old man smashed his whiskey glass onto the floor, and amber liquid splattered everywhere. His face flushed crimson, the veins at his temples throbbing. "He's an alien! A goddamn alien, just like the Jupiter Family! The technology he uses—nuclear fusion, free energy, those medicines—they're all alien technology! He came here to trick you! To make you kneel to him, worship him, hand Destiny over to him! Then he'll be just like the Jupiter Family, riding on your heads and shitting all over you!"

Gold-Rimmed Glasses looked at him and was silent for a moment. "If that's true, why are you shaking?"

The bald old man looked down at his hands. They were shaking—not an ordinary tremble, but an uncontrollable shudder that seemed to crawl out from his bones. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, but the shaking did not stop.

"I'm shaking from anger," the bald old man said.

Gold-Rimmed Glasses did not argue. He turned around and looked back at the big screen. The beam of light had dimmed somewhat, but Ian was still rising, his black shirt drifting in the light. Gold-Rimmed Glasses stared at the image, calculations racing through his mind. He was not a believer. He did not believe in God, in miracles, or in anything supernatural. He believed in only one thing: profit. But now he could no longer see the board clearly. If Ian was human, his money could handle him. If he was not human, then money was useless. He did not