The psychopath said nothing. What was there to say? Speech was simply communication and communication implied interchange of thoughts and observations between two individuals of comparative mind state. But who on this planet had a mind state like him? No one, of course. He was unique.
Of course, he did speak sometimes. It was impossible to get by in the world without some level of communications. But it was only ever as-required - intercourse based on necessity. You might snarl at a dog to indicate displeasure but you didn't bark, whine and pant to them about the weather or what was on television last night.
Dogs. That was a rather good analogy he thought. The world was populated by two-legged dogs. Except that dogs had tails. And loyalty. And love. Characteristics sadly missing from the two-legged dogs that squatted about the Eden that should have belonged to him alone.
The psychopath watched. He liked watching. Although his faced showed little if any trace of emotion, internally he would smile to himself as he watched them scurrying about the street with their self-importance and tiny minded obsessions. Stupid, pathetic creatures - entangled in their own pointlessness.
He would watch the antics of the young as they frolicked and sexed each other up. He'd observe the old ones as they shuffled along like broken robots with all their gears seized up. He'd see the thieves and muggers hit their victims, the religious freaks peddling their gods, and the business men parading about in their suits like marionettes from some absurd children's puppet show.
The psychopath killed. Every one of them he killed. It would take time to get them all, of course, but he would manage it. Every one a death. And not just a death - there would be beauty in their deaths - perhaps almost Art. Yes, every one would succumb and die.
Death, the great leveler of inequities, the great despoiler of ego - this was his speciality and his gift. He would get around to all of them, sooner or later, bringing finality to a world in denial.
The psychopath drew his bony skeletal hand across his dark hood and the white of his skull seemed to vanish into some hideous eternal blackness. Time to start work.
The Reaper, grim as always, moved down amongst the two-legged dogs and chose his victim.