Good morning, Lord.
I'm not in a good mood, archangel.
What's the problem, Lord?
Humans. Their guns. The non-stop killing.
Very troubling, isn’t it.
It's a sickness is what is. A defect in their nature. One for which they will pay.
Pay? How so,Lord?
Do I have to spell it out for you, archangel?
Well, you do work in. . . you know, mysterious ways.
This won't be so mysterious.
No?
Let's just say the Arcturans will be very pleased.
Ah, your latest world.
And a much improved one over its predecessor.
But Arcturans don't even know what guns are.
Right. They don't need to.