Messiah

Part 1 - Snatched

By SFCarWashChannel

The frigid rain deluged the rooftops of Arstotzka. All life had tucked itself away, staying in the warmth of the province's numerous apartments and shanties. As usual for this time of night, the streets were lined with parked cars of all sizes. Most of these cars were unoccupied, as usual, with the exception of the occasional homeless person, and, near a rare square brick building, the agents of the Science Inquisition.

L4 sat in a sedan with the door to the brick building in view. 'He,' if you can call a cyborg a 'he,' had been staring out the window at the building's door for about four hours. 'He' noted 9 men had entered the building earlier that evening, and none had emerged yet. The cyborg knew that while it wouldn't appear so to an average Terran or Tauran, the building was fully surrounded by others on 'his' team. Tonight was the night all who attended the Bonitanan Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints of Nazaire's Southeast Arstotzka Temple's weekly Book of Mormon study were to be sent for re-education.

Without warning, the door opens, and four of the men exit the temple. L4 radios the nearby teams of Boogie Men, who are in position to intercept the unsuspecting Mormons.

"78, 105, 56, four truants identified and approaching. Commence apprehension sequence."

"Affirmative," a female voice responds.

Another two exit the temple a few minutes later, heading in the opposite direction.

"128, 87, 130, two truants identified and approaching. Commence apprehension sequence," L4 radios again, before seeing several large, dark figures carry several limp, hooded bodies into a hatchback and another sedan. 00078, 00105, and 00056 have done their job well as usual.

A final three men exit the temple, clearly bullshitting as usual after a Book of Mormon study. One appears to be Bonitañan Spanish, another Middle Eastern, and the third ambiguously Caucasian.

"Final three truants identified. 57, 92, 114, initiate apprehension sequence."

"Affirmative," a male voice responds.

"Apprehension successful. Two truants in custody," another female voice says over the radio.

"Vehicles A and C, proceed to second position for transfer. Upon arrival, await instructions from L7," L4 says in his usual controlled monotone.

Meanwhile, the last three men approach an alley. One sees the reflection of something shiny just a few meters into it.

"Wait, I think I see a coin," the Boñitanan Spanish man says, as he walks over. The other two follow him from about two meters back.

"Is it anything?" the middle eastern man asks.

"Nope, just foil, John," the Boñitanan Spanish man replies, as each of the three men hears something large hit the pavement behind them. The Caucasian man turns to see what fell... or rather dropped.

"What in Joseph–" he exclaims, finding himself staring into the sinister red eye of a Boogie Man. The men feel sharp pain in their necks, followed by the pressure of foreign liquid entering their bloodstreams. The world misaligns and fades as black cloth bags are fastened around their necks.

Several minutes later, the three unconscious men are loaded into a van with tinted windows. One of the Boogie Men places the right hand of the captured Boñitanan Mormons onto a biometric terminal, briefly flashing "EVANS, JOHN" for the middle eastern man, "GONZALES, RAUL" for the Boñitanan Spanish man, and "MCVEIGH, RANDALL" for the Caucasian man.

"Final three truants snatched successfully," Boogie Man 00057 speaks into the radio.

"Vehicle B, proceed to second position for transfer. Upon arrival, await instructions from L7," L4 replies.

"Affirmative."

The van drives into the stormy night.

Part 2 - Re-Education

By SFCarWashChannel

Randall McVeigh was sick to his stomach. Something about today's sermon at temple disturbed him. He couldn't put his finger on if it was the dim lighting in the familiar converted single-family house, the way Elder Wilson exaggerated every sentence with his southern drawl, or something else entirely. But what he did know is he had wasted enough of his life being talked down to about some book written two millennia ago, and being told he had to pay ten percent of his pre-tax income for it. That wasted time made him angry. Why he hadn't gotten angry about it earlier, McVeigh could not say. And with all that said, something compelled him to stay, and to stay silent.

In another room, a cloaked figure watched McVeigh from a screen. However, what was on the screen was not a Boñitanan Mormon sermon, but rather a drooling Caucasian man strapped to a chair. His eyes were held open by a contraption of some kind, with an IV feeding solution into his left arm and some clear plastic tubes dripping solution into his eyes at a precise rate. A treaded robot put the end of its arm against McVeigh's right arm briefly while another cloaked humanoid figure switched an IV bag. The walls of the room on the screen appeared to be screens themselves, playing an immersive video. McVeigh occasionally laughed, almost as if he was going mad like Inquisitor Fitzgerald.

The figure in the surveillance room grabbed a computer mouse and clicked to another video feed, of another individual in a nearly identical situation in a nearly identical room. However, the man was experiencing seemingly random muscle contractions and foaming at the mouth, grunting and whimpering. The watcher heard a knock, followed by the door to the surveillance room opening.

"What's the status, Inquisitor Dragozova?" A woman asks the figure watching the screen, as she walks into the room.

"Two of my three students are on track to graduate early, Specialist Castillo."

"How about the third?"

"He is likely to qualify for enlightenment."

"I see." Castillo takes a closer look at the video feed of the man having the seizure.

"Student John Evans has proven quite unwilling to learn. I do not expect his re-education to be a success."

Castillo does not respond to Dragozova's comment. "Call me crazy...but...I think that student is just what I am looking for."

"For what, Specialist?"

"An old idea I had. See, my parents were Mormon truants, and occasionally they and others would be talk about the second coming of the Jesus figure they revered. As a child I asked a others I knew at the temple about it, and they all told me different answers. And after I educated myself and left, I realized they don't have a consistent belief over what a Jesus was. That means if we convince some of them that a Jesus exists in the Doggerlands, they will fight themselves over if the guy is actually a Jesus."

"You should propose that to the Grand High Inquisitor."

"I think I'll go do that now, while we have John Evans enrolled."

Castillo proceeded to the office of the Grand High Inquisitor to explain her idea. She found Ger Loogman sitting at his desk, looking over some schematics for a new school on his computer.

"Theological Warfare Specialist Castillo, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Grand High Inquisitor, I wanted to present a time-sensitive idea I had."

"I'm listening."

"You know how my parents tried to raise me Mormon?"

"Yes?"

"I recall them, and others at the temple, talking about the second coming of a Jesus, but whenever I asked about it as a child every one of them gave me a different response. I think this is because they did not have consistent beliefs about the Jesus character's supposed return."

Loogman put a hand to his chin. "Peculiar. I assume you wish to exploit this inconsistency in belief?"

"That's correct."

"And what makes it time sensitive?"

We currently have a man enrolled who I believe could be made to appear as a Jesus. He is of Middle Eastern descent and is thirty three years old. He has not passed the first Ludovico series despite being in custody for eight days, so he is expected to qualify for enlightenment. But with Surgeon General Karnes' current availability and queue, enlightenment will require he is kept in detention, which we know is already at full capacity."

"I see. If we go forward with it, we must ensure it is successful, or we could have exponentially more truants to deal with, and a higher percentage of which are class clowns. Because of this danger, I won't approve it without unanimous support of the Council. I'll make sure it is added to tonight's meeting's agenda. As this is your project, you will be responsible for making the proposition to the council."

"Thank you, Grand High Inquisitor."

"You're welcome. I'll see you this evening."

Castillo walks away, focused on her new objective.

That evening, Castillo found herself sitting in the council chamber, listening in as the department and school leadership reported on their progress and discussed the Science Inquisition's next moves.

"...and...and that...hehehe...and that's why my trimodal plasma cannon will make our armies unstoppable! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Thank you, Inquisitor Fitzgerald," Loogman said, as Fitzgerald continued to laugh uncontrollably at the thought of his latest weapon."And now Theological Warfare Specialist Castillo has a proposal for the Council to consider."

Castillo stands up, loading a presentation on the oval screen at the end of the chamber with a remote.

"Thank you, Grand High Inquisitor. Right now we have a student enrolled who has the potential to destroy the entire Boñitanan Mormon movement. This student, John Evans, happens to closely match the description for a Jesus. While we have proven it is impossible for a Jesus to exist, it does not change the fact that the Mormons not only revere the Jesus figure, but expect it to have a 'second coming'. That being said, there is much disagreement within the Mormon community as to what or who a Jesus would be. I believe that by introducing a Jesus figure we could divide the Mormons and cause them to infight, bringing their growth to a standstill."

Quartermaster Samantha Bryonne speaks. "What would be necessary to pull this off?"

"Quartermaster, my studies suggest we would need to replicate the wounds from the execution story, but that should be easy. We already have cattle stunners to punch the nail wound holes, and a Boogie Man can create the stab wound in his side. Of course, they would likely be closed and scarred. The student is visibly of Middle Eastern descent, and has short black hair and a short beard that my research has led me to believe match cultural norms of Palestinians 3000 years ago. As for convincing the student he is a Jesus, we should be able to use positive Ludovico treatments. While I know we have never administered a euphoric Ludovico series to those with unaltered minds. However, it should theoretically be possible with the right drug blend, possibly a stronger solution of what we use to enlighten new Boogie Men."

"Thank you, Specialist Castillo," Bryonne replied.

"Surgeon General Karnes, what would it take to develop the necessary drug blend?" Loogman asked.

Karnes yawned. He was tired of waking up early every day to transform humans into cyborgs with no end to his schedule in sight."I...I think I can do it with our current stock," Karnes said.

"The odds of this working in the Inquisition's favor are seven point two three to one against within sixty days after release. " L0 comments. "Furthermore, it is possible this plan may increase truancy rates."

"What do you suggest we do if the plan gets out of control or backfires?" asks the Grand Marshall.

"We kill him in public. When he doesn't resurrect, it will be obvious our Jesus was fake, which should drive the population towards education," Castillo explains. "Also, I had L2 calculate the odds with assassination included, and they came to a manageable one point two seven to one against."

"Interesting. L0, can you calculate a strategy to ensure the Jesus is cancelled when the time is ready?" the Grand Marshall responds.

"Affirmative," L0 says.

"What do we all think?" Loogman asks the council.

"I don't like it, but if it lets us take down entire populations of truants it is worth a try," said the Grand Marshall.

"Any other objections?" Loogman asks. The room falls silent. "Then we shall approve the project."

Castillo's face shows a faint smile. It was her time to make a lasting mark on the Doggerlands.

Part 3 - Arstotzka

By Pontificatus

The intermittent sounds of street traffic slowly became white noise as the sun rose above western Arstotzka. The warm rays filtered through city smog and boarded windows, bringing to life a man laying sprawled on a dirty mattress.

The man fought his wakefulness like a bad dream. It was too late, the day had already taken him prisoner. His throat was dry and his head pounded. He squinted around the sunlit room. This... was his bedroom? No, that couldn't be right.

Strange visions of clouds and bright light flashed through his mind, or were they memories? He shut his eyes as tight as he could. The visions didn't leave him. He felt momentarily like he was losing control to a bad trip. No, he was Christian. He didn't do drugs! How did he end up here? Was this another dream? He tried to focus his mind. He could see, a gate? Yes, it was the gate. He knew about the gate! Beyond the gates, that was his home.

Understanding began to wash over him like a flood. His father from beyond the gates had sent him here. No, sent him back here. Back. He had been here before. Memories of palm trees and casting nets on the seashore raced in his head. He remembered.

He remembered his friends. He remembered sitting on the hillside with them as had spoken to the crowds. He remembered the great feasts he had created. He remembered standing atop the waves in the storm. He remembered his nights in the desert. He remembered Calvary. He remembered. Three thousand years ago.

His hands instinctively grasped closed. There in the middle of his palms—holes just big enough to fit a nail through. He knew why he was here now. He stood up—too fast. The blood rushed from his head and his vision nearly went black. For a hint of an instant in the darkness, he thought he saw a young dark haired woman standing in front of a blue house. She was... familiar. Was she a memory or a vision? The blood started to flow again. He convinced himself it was a trick of the mind.

He took stock of himself in the broken mirror on the wall. He wore plain tan linen robes, and cheap brown sandals. His scruffy dark hair tied together his appearance on his tanned skin. He walked slowly across the street. As his seeing returned to normal he walked over to the door, and made his way out of the drab apartment to the street. It was about to happen.

He knew it was. He didn't know how he knew it was, but he knew it was.

One minute. It was going to happen. It would be right in front of him.

Thirty Seconds. Yes, this was preordained long ago.

Ten, nine, eight, seven. Here he comes.

Six, five. Right on cue. A man in a tattered gray business suit appears on the roof of the apartment building across from his, seven stories up.

Four, three. There he goes, freefall.

Two, one—impact. The screams of nearby pedestrians were on target. As if by instinct his muscles pushed him until he had walked directly over to the fallen man.

"Oh my God, someone call an ambulance!" A frantic woman screamed as the robed man bent down to look at the jumper. The blood from beneath his head began to pool around him, his legs were bent horribly underneath him.

"Don't be afraid." He placed his hand calmly over the mans face. It was warm with the red liquid, but he knew the man would be okay. He spoke softly. "You will be okay. By my power, be made to life again."

"Sir step away, I'm a nurse!" A woman in blue nurses scrubs was pushing her way on top of the man in the suit. The nurse shoved the man's tie away and wrestled herself into CPR position. She checked his pulse and listened for breath. "Not breathing, okay, starting compressions..." She spoke to herself, growing oblivious to the gathering crowd on the sidewalk.

She did chest compressions for three minutes before the ambulance finally arrived, not that they could've made any difference.

"Time of death, 4:54 P.M. Hey Todd help me with the stretcher. Everyone back away please!" The first responders struggled to keep the crowd back. The robed man simply stepped back and watched. He took in the crowd trying to catch glimpses of the deceased. He thought about all that was yet to come after this.

The time had come for the beginning of the end.