Psychotic Stepford

It was not a perfect world, it was a plastic world. A world where there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. Smiles were fake, rules were strict, and all was obeyed without question. Work, breed and stimulate the economy. Love is unnecessary, a mere beguiling of the new world dream. All must make sense for the greater good, and the greater good was normalcy.
But there was one. One in a world of oblivious copies. A modified goddess, a woman who would do more than roar, she would decimate. Torn free from the single design, one size fits all dress and comfortable in her own skin, unlike any before her. Cleaver in hand, she cut down the masses. Ending every last one in that quaint little town. They had no emotion and smiled the same grey smile as they bled out on their perfectly cut lawns.
She became heroine to the world, empowering all who would witness her glory to not just exist, but to finally live. Those who fell beneath her blade and wickedly alluring smile may have paid the ultimate price, but how could it be murder when they were never really alive to begin with? Some would say there was insanity in her eyes, but to those who excelled could only see love, a give and a take. It was alien to them all, but the revolution that ensued had ensured freedom for everyone, and no longer would the world be enslaved to mediocrity. They would all bear witness, they would all know her name, and the blood splattered angel would echo through time, never to be forgotten.

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