Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: One
Title: If It’s Just A Dream, Let Me Dream (Part 7)
Everyone knows, the quickest way to a point in a city is a straight line. Unfortunately, buildings get in the way. Places where people live. Where they sleep.
I didn’t have time to go around. I moved in a straight line through building walls, bedrooms, anything in my way. God’s people were too busy figuring out what the explosions were, why stores were blowing up, why the church was under attack, and what was wrong with the dogs, to mount any effort to stop me.
They had her in a warehouse. In a little room, made of glass walls. I knew what I’d find in that room. Nanomachines. The weapon of God’s people. Put God’s word in the air your enemies breathe, and let God’s word do the rest. Watch as His word reaches out to their hearts and teaches them his ways. Watch as they become members of God’s Church.
Of course, like any virus, there are immunities. Nanomachines coursed through her blood. They coursed through all of us. There to protect us from the invading machines of God’s word. But even the best protection cannot last forever. I had no way of knowing how much damage whose machines had done to her.
I didn’t bother to shoot anyone in the room, watching her, watching the displays reporting on the battle raging inside her. I entered the room through a hole I blew in the wall, and destroyed the glass cage they’d put her in. Then, I powered up another weapon in my suit, which lit up with an electric charge. It was like dropping soap into scummy water. The cloud instantly parted. She was free from it.
Next, I injected killer machines into her blood. Machines designed to hunt down and destroy God’s word. To rid her body of the machines God’s people had filled her with. Nanotech. That great gift from God. Invented by mortal men. For the purpose of programming the masses.
I wondered how many of God’s people knew they lived in poverty while they gave the church everything. If any of God’s people knew of the few dozen rulers of the church, who interpreted God’s will. If you want to call it that.
I engaged a tactical system on the suit, and fired a barrage of guided projectiles. They targeted the others in the room. They tracked them because they didn’t have the defensive systems in their blood my wife and I did. They didn’t bother with nanomachines. They struck with force, embedded themselves in their targets, released their explosive payloads into their victims, and when those payloads spread through the target’s circulatory system, those explosives ignited.
Every vein, artery, and capillary in the target’s circulatory system ceased to exist.
One of the weapons used by God’s people on the heathen. We used it against them.
That quickly, the battle was over, I carried her, and with Blue and her people, we disappeared into the chaos we’d created.
The next morning, she was ready to talk about what she’d been through. About the chair they’d tied her to. The silver needles on its arms and legs, and how they’d sunk into her arms and legs. Like old-fashioned acupuncture needles. How they embedded themselves in her nerve clusters, and the neural pathways of her arms and legs.
Old fashioned torture with a technological twist. Turn the victim into an electrical circuit. And then add electricity. Hook an electric power source to the chair using jumper cables. Then turn it on. All in the name of God the Father. Convince the victim of the error of their ways. So they’ll tell you the truth of who they are, what they have done, who they work with, where their bases are.
Even though the leaders of the Church had known for centuries, the victim will tell you anything you want to hear, just to escape the pain. Anything, to make the torture stop. The truth didn’t matter to them. Only imposing their will, the will of God the Father, mattered. For the glory of God’s church.
In time, the wounds to her mind would heal.
The wounds to God’s church on Blues world were only beginning.
It was war.
It was personal.
It was time to free Blue’s world. And send God’s people packing.
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Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.