Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  The way the babes behave, not looking at anyone, not talking, afraid to make a false move or speak up, I can only imagine what John's done to break them. They behave like victims of domestic abuse.

  Staring at John when he walks down the line again, pushing LSD communion wafers in our mouths, he hits my severed nerve, the one that screams for payback. It's like losing a limb and still feeling it. Complacency has been imposed on me, but the urge to smash his head in grows greater by the hour.

  What he cannot know is that by giving us the food we used to take for granted, offering us a slice of humanity with a bed, hot water, and cuddly blankets, is that he's awakened a hunger in us to have equality and freedom back. And I'll die to get it.

  He's dropped a match in brittle tinder, so parched and ready to go up in a raging inferno, because he's reduced us to the point where we have little left to lose and everything to gain. We've been starved of our humanity, companionship, conversation, and basic sanitary requirements, kept in dark boxes which breed mould and decay, flaking soured paint which flecks off like dandruff. We've not heard rain, seen sun, or breathed clean air for so long, and now this 'mercy' insults what's left. The tiny spark of indignation is about to turn into violence, the likes of which would wither my mother's soul.

  I'm ready to go to war, for my humanity. Freedom is a right, even if it's spent in slavery to the dollar, I was willing to work for my luxuries. What I'm not willing to work for is a god of violence, one who brutalized the tribe of Israel relentlessly until they submitted and accepted him as 'god'.

  This is the very method John and his Alpha employ. They grind you down, slicing down resistance with pain and humiliation, using the erosion of basic human rights, like water and food, to weaken and victimize.

  One passage has stuck in my head. I even remember which one it was like those preachers manage every time they quote the black book of hate and prejudice. It's Acts 7 verse 53. It says You are the ones who receive god's law, that was handed down by angels. So all that shit in the desert, that was an angel – it wasn't god. And then that disciple names the bastard. So none of it was 'god'. How come no one ever preaches that in church?

  What the world doesn't seem to realize is that the entire cult called Christianity has the widest spread case of Stockholm Syndrome ever visited on humanity. By threat of death and eternal damnation, after waging wars, inquisitions, and genocide against all who resisted, they finally have 'majority' rule.

  But it was won with bloodshed and pain, by burning women and healers and eradicating entire nations.

  The minds they've imprisoned have lived in fear for so long they now love their abuser. They think it's all their fault when 'god punishes them'. So they dutifully go to their temples every Sunday, they get down on their knees and ask for forgiveness, they carry his rule book everywhere they go, and wear his symbols around their necks like good slaves in chains. The crucifix is a symbol of death, and the sacrifice of innocence – and they wear it proudly, flaunting their madness, calling a celebration of death -holy.

  Yeah well it's Hole-y, cos there are so many holes in this story and dogma that it looks like a sea sponge crawling with maggots.

  It's a cult, a global cult which has enslaved masses, and to take away their chains would devastate them. Yet still they force their children into slavery. Can't they see that the god 'Moloch' is still taking human sacrifices? They offer up their children after birth, and baptize them to him before they have a voice or the free will to argue. They have no choice.

  They are dedicated to this god from their first breath, raised with the prejudiced rules of indoctrination, they'll marry in the cult's temple, and they'll die in that temple, when graves are filled with the bones of wasted lives. Their souls dedicated to a false prophet who proclaimed he was god, but isn't – and never fucking was. He was the Hitler of the old testament. Glorified and immortalized.

  Their minds are enslaved by brainwashing and the threat of punishment if they 'disobey god'. And they believe the fear, and so mankind refuses to be free because the slaves breed more slaves, keeping the majority in control. Judging anyone who dares to 'go forth and multiply' – free of sin, free of guilt, as 'God' commanded on the sixth day of creation. 'They' made us free, without a single rule. There was no sin ... sin was invented by the god Moloch – to rule us through fear.

  Moloch still reigns supreme, accumulating wealth and souls while sitting on a throne, represented by a man in a dress who advocates the buggering of boys because they're a brotherhood of pedophiles who hate women and judge everyone – even though the book warns not to do it because they damn themselves when they do.

  They don't care.

  They know they're damned and are cashing in because they're still treated like god's highest echelon of representatives.

  'God' had fuck all to do with it.

  I've read that entire black book because I've had nothing else to do. And now that I've read it from cover to cover, I think I believe the 'we made them in our image' crowd at the beginning were basically happy loving folks who simply were running around creating shit, and feeling like we do after we finish a project. Satisfied and pleased. Then they moved on.

  There is no account of sins where there is no law. So I say fuck the god Moloch and let's go back to the way we were 'created'. Free of sin and encouraged to fuck. Clearly that was part of the great plan if the only commandment at the beginning was to multiply. The need to breed was strong. There was no marriage, no pairing, no vows – nothing. We were free.

  I want to be free. Free of this god forsaken hell-hole. Free of his fucked up god. Free! Just fucking free.

  The second he turns his back, reaching for a huge-ass McDonald's bag and the catering sized salt cellar, I spit my communion wafer out, sticking it underneath my kneeling stool. Housekeeping is John's greatest weakness, he ain't gonna find it anytime soon.

  Given autonomy to sit our asses back down on the pews, I take my meal, accepting the salt as the covenant between us and 'one angry wanker with a penchant for brutalizing innocent humans' – aka God, and instantly I'm wolfing into it, my brain finally coming up with a workable solution.

  The women are too frail and broken, there's no way they'd rebel against this whacko. Even if they wanted to they'd be a liability in a confrontation. John would use them to make us back off.

  If I can convince John to let us men have bible study together, so we can celebrate the word of 'god', then I can use passages in it to tell them my plan. We can use bible verses to communicate, and any watchers hopefully won't put two and two together.

  If we can make it regular, then we'll open a door of opportunity to blindside John with an attack.

  Swallowing a fry, I sneak another glance at number 9. The thought of a dude of John's stature beating on a chick that small boils my blood.

  This is more than about me, this is for them.

  We have to protect the weak, we have to get our fucking act together and take on the maniac, before she ends up being obliterated. Listening to him challenging the satan in number 72 nearly did my sanity in.

  I hate bullies, and I hate John even more than I hate Auschwitz.

  Drinking my wine, I smirk behind the plastic tumbler at his glassy eyes; his wide pupils. John is tripping down Demented Boulevard, and I think it's time I had another vision of divine deliverance.

  Slumping back, making my face go slack, I raise my hands up, yelling to the ceiling, “The light, it's so bright!”

  John drops his burger wrapping, pouncing out of his chair to face me, “What do you see?”

  “Shhhh!” I hiss loud, as if I forgot my hearing aid while walking into the realm of brilliance.

  “He says, oh he's so beautiful... wait... what was that? His name is Victor, the angel says his name means Victory.”

  John falls for it hook, line, and sinker, gripping my arm and biting his fingers into it, “What does Vic say?”

  I heard him mention this name, thank god it was the right
name to use.

  “He says the men must worship. Together as one church we must open our bibles and commune. Every day at exactly three in the afternoon, the men must assemble as one, discussing the holy word of God, appreciating it like a fine woman, the way Israel was when God made her his wife. Before she prostituted herself with other nations. He says... wait... shhhh I can't hear? Oh! Victor says this is a time of mercy, a time of love, a time for brothers to come together as one mind, one will.”

  To beat the crap out of your crazy ass.

  Slumping back, breathing dramatically, I spring my eyes open and make out like I'm shocked to see John. “Did I faint?”

  He's smiling like he just found the fucking ark of the covenant, “Sixty-six, you are inspired! Tomorrow you three men will study the bible, you will glorify god!”

  Smiling widely, I look at the dudes, willing them to play along when I shout, “Praise be to God!”

  •

  Preacher John:

  Getting a message from Victor is an answer to my prayers.

  The redeemed have been put to bed, and the stupid chick I brought home is down in the cell where I used to keep Julie.

  Now it's time for me.

  Today Alpha showed mercy, he showed how it's God's duty to protect the vulnerable and weak, to take care of them. His might be called Shauna, but mine is named Julie.

  With a baby sip-cup of juice laced with strong sedatives and painkillers, I open her door, stepping into the softly lit room.

  This level isn't like the dungeons below. Here the paint doesn't peel, the lighting is adjustable, and they have the warmth of insulation. That insulation is also soundproofing, which is why the redeemed will not be interrupted in their contemplation of how best to serve God, or when communing with him through prayer.

  Strolling to her wide wool mattress, so creamy and clean, I sit next to her head. I've brought pillows for this one. I damaged her, and now I must offer consoling the way Alpha consoled Shauna, the way Victor comforted Shauna after he nearly killed her.

  They all have a turning point, a pivotal moment of insight. I know the satan has left Julie, it was simply habit for her to resist redemption. I know she wanted to. I know it.

  Leaning over the sleeping sweetheart, I gently blow across her cheek, rousing her softly.

  •

  72: Julie:

  Woody aromatics tickle, challenging my mind, forcing my survival instinct into instant overdrive when I recognize the masculine aftershave as being the smell of the bastard who beat me broken.

  Snapping eyes open, staring up into those big brown eyes, my heart trills, instantly pounding out the panic call, flexing my muscles with rigid tension, making me wince against the agony.

  “Sshhh precious. I'm not here to hurt you. Look, I brought you pillows and an extra blanket. And a little sippy cup so you can drink. Here, let me help you.”

  Squealing when he touches me, flinching but paralyzed, hot tears roll into my ears.

  Oh god. Please don't. Please!

  N. noooo!

  Don't touch me. Oh god. Please.... I will die if you fuck me now. It hurts to breathe! You broke nine of my ribs. If you hold me down, if you hug me, if you rest your fucking heavy body on mine, you'll undo my surgery. I will die underneath you and I can't even scream!

  Glaring at him. Terrified, I gasp when he slides a hand under me, lifting me and propping me up with pillows.

  You broke my nose! I can't breathe! If you put that sippy cup in my mouth you will suffocate me!

  I'm shaking my head, but my words come out as slurry mumbles. That big hand cradles my face, and he's smiling at me like I'm the first snowflake of Christmas.

  “Sssh. I will nurse you better. God is merciful, and I am now your angel of mercy. Hush pretty petal. I know you bruise, I know you break. But satan is gone, now I can love you.”

  You are fucking mad!

  He pushes the cup into my mouth, and my eyes burn with the panic.

  He's smothering me.

  Slugging fast, hoping to drink faster than I need air, I'm exhausted, panting when he pulls it out.

  Immobile, my body an anchor of pain, I stare at the flawless paint on the ceiling, wishing I could sob my heartache out, but to do so would be suicide.

  “Your surgeon died today. I killed him,” he whispers, stroking my hair across the pillow with the compulsive attention to detail that makes me terrified.

  He sounds really proud that he murdered the man who saved my life.

  “He was a bad man, Julie. I hope he didn't hurt you.”

  He didn't. You did you psycho! YOU!

  Jesus!

  “If he hurt you down where I worship god, I will be a very sad John. But enough about me. Let me hold you. I'll keep you warm. Don't worry petal, I'll stay with you tonight. I am your angel and I'll watch over you.”

  He bends, pressing generous lips on mine, the agony pounding a brutal ache right into my cheekbones.

  “Aaaaauh!” I mumble, objecting.

  My heart is hurting it's pumping so hard. Alarm is asphyxiating my bruised organs. When he pulls back, I notice how widely dilated his pupils are.

  He's a druggie. He's psychotic.

  And I'm his prisoner.

  ~ Chapter 26 ~

  The supernatural beings saw that these girls were beautiful,

  so they took the ones they liked

  ~ Genesis 6:2

  Preacher John:

  Walking into my quarters, the sound of my phone bleeping sends me into 'oh fuck' mode, and I run to it, snatching it up and dropping to my knees.

  Bowing my head to the floor, I expect, 'Anoki', but instead Matthew's voice chaffs in my ear, “John, we're going fishing tonight. Dress to hook sinners. We'll pick you up at seven.”

  Sitting back, scowling, I grumble, “Why?”

  “Alpha has replaced our missing brethren. We're back to thirteen. We need to show the new disciples what we're like when we're all together.”

  “Right,” I nod, sitting on my chair and swiveling idly to stare at the screens.

  The blond whore is gone. Just missing!

  Hanging up, I'm staring, wondering how the fuck the infidel escaped, when my phone bleeps again. Absently I lift the receiver, mumbling, “What?” expecting Matt's voice to tell me he forgot to mention I need to bring a year's supply of roofies or somethin'.

  “Anoki.”

  Crap!

  Hitting the deck, I plant my forehead on the floor, “Forgive me father.”

  “Have you sinned?”

  “No Alpha, but I thought you were Matthew and didn't answer with respect.”

  “Your contrition is acknowledged. John, you will notice the 8th has been removed from your satanarium. I sent my presence to her and have taken her away in my glory. Tend to the few you have, and do not smother Seventy-two. She's extremely delicate right now. I tended to her myself. Do not make assumptions again. You did not murder her surgeon, and her fertility is intact.”

  “Forgive me father,” I whisper, worrying about my next flogging for offending him.

  “God is merciful. He impregnated a virgin. I have done many miraculous things. But tending to Julie is a test for you, that is why I have not instantly healed her. This is the time for you to show her how sublime the power of an angel is. I expect her to love you enough to die for you. I'm tired of so many women behaving like Lili, when she ran away and refused to listen to commands. Julie keeps talking of free will, well so did Lilith, and now she is named a demon for her sins. You make sure Seventy-two revokes her adherence to the belief of free will, she must be enslaved to you the way Eve was to Adam. To me.”

  “Yes Alpha.”

  “And boy, tonight, murder a few sinners - like Lilith. It will please me if you rape women and have them drown in their own blood. Women are rebellious creatures. We must make an example of the packs of them who go out at night hunting for men – tempting them to sin, who drink so much alcohol they behave without shame.”


  “Yes Father,” I mumble, my head beginning to get a bastard of a headache bending over like this.

  “Does your back still cause discomfort?”

  “No father. But I like it when it does, it reminds me of my sins, it keeps me in line.”

  “Good boy.”

  The line goes dead, and I sit up, wondering why the hell he saw the platinum baldy as worthy of his interceding presence.

  Oh well. It's feeding time in the zoo. And I look forward to the men becoming a church, discussing the holy words of God together with the fervor of young men in the tabernacle.

  •

  67: Jeremiah

  Six of us left. Three chicks, three dudes. I saw the look the other two shared. It was quick, and I looked away. I didn’t want to betray that they might even be trying to communicate.

  Fuck! Communicate what? Do they think we can take this fucker? The three of us? What if someone else is watching, and he can call reinforcements? Yeah, the three of us might take him alone, but we’re weak, underfed, dehydrated. If there were suddenly three of him, or an army of hims?

  Then I think of Allen. Of the outside. Of being free, to run, to laugh, to cry, to read something other than the worn bible in my cell. Hell, the freedom to go for a drive. Wind in my hair, sun in my eyes. . .

  When I was young, and my mother forced the church on me, I heard from the book of Matthew: “What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?” Is this how I save my soul then? Suffer under the hands of a maniac? Lie down and take it?

  If this is how my soul needs to be saved, then it profits me plenty to rebel. Hope means more than this ever could. It’s only a matter of time before he sends the rest of us to meet our maker, the same as he did the rest.