It took everyone by surprise the day the governments fell.

Initially, it seemed like a horrific terrorist attack that had succeeded; the White House fell like a child's pile of play bricks, every second caught by international newscasters stunned into silence. The whole world mourned for those killed under the attack of such monstrous people.

Then 10 Downing Street erupted into a fiery explosion of bricks and glass and smoke, soon followed by the Élysée Palace in much the same way. All over the world, such buildings fell and it took less than a heartbeat for the media to turn inwards to themselves, to their own plight and try to figure out what could possibly be going on. Now the world truly mourned for their loss, but this time it was individual, selfish. The unity grasped so quickly before had been lost.

Humanity's eternity stretched on, seconds dropping like minutes as the emergency services raced, if indeed there were any to respond, to the disaster sites. Those who mourned were watching, attention rapt at the inhumanity pasted onto their screens and those who did not, those who relished the end danced like a pluviophile in the rain, the chaos seemingly seeping into their very soul.

It was just before the emergency services arrived at Downing Street that people began to emerge. There were those who had obviously sustained serious injuries, bleeding and broken, and then there were the ones who looked untouched by all but the dust the bricks had become. More than half those walking out of the ruins were of the latter, all wearing full black; uniformed. A white emblem was embellished on their chests, but the dust smeared it, hid it from view. The uniformed people – men, women and even some younger enough to be classified as children – were all but dragging the wounded alongside them, only the dump them in a very misshapen semi-circle.

The wounded's heads were lifted towards the now multiple camera crews focused on the tragedy, a blade placed along the fleshy underside of their jaw. In unison, their throats were slit and they were allowed to drop to the floor, most flailing like drowning fish.

The world exploded.

Everywhere was a mess of noise. The Pentagon had been attacked in almost the same way whilst the world focused on the uniformed murders, going down with little resistance in comparison to what it could have given. Bellevue Palace was the next to fall to the mutilation, followed by Kremlin. One by one the leaders and their families' blood was spilt, either by destruction or the hand of another man.

Gunshots echoed across the globe. Police, soldiers and murders fell alike, alongside civilians and those covering the international attack. None in the immediate vicinity were spared. Cameras, still rolling despite their lack of human wielders, broadcasted to the world the horrors that were taking place.

When silence finally seemed to settle on Downing Street, more of the uniformed mass murderers stepped out of the slowly falling dust. Four were the exact same as those who had moved out before them, the corpses that they walked over without care. One of these four made her way to one of the abandoned cameras.

The fifth, however, was different. Whilst he was still dressed in full black, his tee was not sleeved, showing an arm, his right, to be covered in exotic, colourful tattoos. There was no emblem embellished upon his chest, instead a pitch cape thrown over his head and shoulders. A tuft of blond hair stuck just above cerulean eyes, these above a manic grin, all teeth and no smile. The camera focused on him and, once again, the world focused on one place alone with endless fear and curiosity.

“Welcome to a new age, Earth!” It was all but a shout, his arms sweeping out wide as his grin grew. “The age of Society!” One arm dropped, draping around the front of his waist as he dropped into a shallow bow. “My name is,” a small, huffing laugh, “Pan Von Rothstien, and I am your new ruler!” Not moving his body from his pose, he lifted his head just enough to make eye contact with the camera, “And I will rule you with fear.”

The camera feed went black and chaos took over the world. For those who mourned, time became eternity again. For those who relished, it became insanity.

When the world fell into an almost defined anarchy in the first week, people hid away. They ran in their droves with their families and friends to save havens, scurrying like rats in the rain. They ran and they hid and they were good at it, as humans seem to have a significant amount of practise at this.

Some were sought out. People who had successful found a save haven left the sanctity of it to bring those others who were cared about to safety, leaving those deemed unimportant to rot in the chaos that had become the Society of Earth.

Another guest entered the stronghold's most centre room, the one Pan enjoyed calling his throne room. They were allowed to enter and leave as they would, the lack of fear cowing most assassination attempts significantly more successfully then a locked door would. People only enjoy doing things they believe they are not allowed to do.

This one was different. Not crying, not throwing himself at the bottom of the throne begging for mercy; not cockily declaring himself desirable enough to be one of his ranking men, fast and vicious; not striding with the harsh determination of murder, anger clouding his vision. This one merely ambled, almost as if he were walking through a museum. His eyes dragged over everything in the room before finally settling on the one on the throne himself.

“Iain,” he said, his whole demeanour apathetic. Like he wasn't addressing the man who was capable of controlling a force of people to slaughter thousands in one day. Like he was addressing an old friend.

“Lewis,” the madman replied, disinterested but not unkindly, “What do I owe this pleasure?” It was quite obviously a façade, his eyes giving away his interest as he watched the other man with an almost rapt attention. He was offered a slight grin, almost a smirk, for his efforts.

“I'd just heard, from a couple of sources,” and the smirk morphed into a full grin at his own joke, “That you'd gone completely insane and taken over the world. So I kind of wanted to see what exactly was going on.”