I am Godzilla.
I’m visible in your city, but if I can help it, I am invisible to you until it’s too late. I know where you live. And guess what? I live there too. I hover around all of you. I know no color barrier, no religion, no morality, no currency. I speak your language fluently. And with every voice I take away, I acquire yet another language. I work very quickly. I work faster than Mothra, Gamera, and Jesus combined. And if you’re happily married with children, I will make sure that you and your family die.
Your world will fall into my hands, and I will crush your city for my own self-gain. I don’t sleep, so I make sure you don’t either. I will make it virtually impossible for your family to easily attend a temple, birthday party, or public park without a struggle, without screaming, without pain. You have no way to get rid of me. Your scientists don’t have the resources, and I relish their desperation. Your god is happier to pretend that I don’t exist—of course, until the planet he created gets demolished. I am Godzilla. I have no interest in right or wrong. I derive great pleasure out of your fear. I will fight to take away your hope. I will plot to rob you of your children and your dreams. I will make sure that every day you wake up you will cry, wondering "What will become of my house when my family gets mauled by the King of the Monsters?"
And the truth is, I am still winning, and you are scared. And you should be. I am Godzilla. You ignored me. That was a mistake.