"I thought about you, and us lot at school, and all that," Jude says. "Pete, Fiona, your dad. All that. The existence of God has destroyed us. So it stops, because I say so." You trust me, right? You Christians out there? You know I'm cool? Stay with me. "They've possessed you," Steve says evenly. "You're doing exactly what they want." She shakes her head. "They want you alive. This is your only way out." There's a cruelty in taking that away; a strength in making it clear this is all her. Jude's idea. Team People coming back in the last quarter. "Oh yeah, right, so what? I bugger off and abandon the world to the Devils?" Bang. This is where it comes around to all right again. This is where grace steps in, no matter how offensive this might seem. "Itâs the death of them as well. Not those lost souls, but the thing inside them. All God's work. And when you die, you're not ascending to Paradise. You're dying properly and forever, taking the whole thing with you. Forever. God and Heaven and Hell, all dead. The end of this world, and the start of a new one, without religion on our backs." The talking, the backtracking and relegating to metaphor, that I did with Doctor Who, that sensitivity to the value and power of religion. Not wanting to alienate the reader base. All of this "kill God because it's not really God" talk. And this takes it all away. There's no Dalek metaphor to hide behind. No pretty lack of mental yoga to guide us through it. "The Parting Of The Ways" is a pretty dress worn by what we're looking at now, naked. I thought I was in a pissing contest with God, not some gay Welshman. And he called my bluff. "And what sort of world would that be?"
"Better," Jude says. "Because right now, we're promised an afterlife. So we waste the seventy years we've got. If God is dead, though, and this is all we've got...maybe we'll use it. Maybe we'll become better than you." Or if that's too hard: consider this as sci-fi. A character realizes she's trapped in a science fiction story, and pays close enough attention to the rules that she destroys them, freeing herself and everybody else. "Or worse! Did you think of that?" She grants this. "Well, may be. But that's up to us, not you." He stares at her; there's a petulant God side coming to the fore. "It's daft, because this is what I always thought, before you came along. 'Soon as we get rid of God, that's when we grow up.' And then you said it too! It was in your big speech. It was there all along! You said we've got to take responsibility, and if you really want us to do that then we've got to do it on our own." God takes hold: "Always thinking you're so clever. There's millions who don't agree with you! Millions who need me! [But] sod them, you know better!" She backs down a millimeter, and he pushes. "What are you going to do, force it down me throat?" No. "You know I'm right!" He shakes his arrogant head. "The world's about to end, and you're wasting my time with this bollocks." But she's just tired. "This is your plan. It's all yours. You saw death, tonight. And it's your death. You said there'd be a Third Testament, and this is it. Use your power one last time and look, because this -- this is right." He stares at her, shaking and afraid. He looks at us. You love him more intensely. He goes into download.