Inside, he sat down and had a drink, listening to the clamor of the locals. Most of the prospectors seemed to be talking about a new ruin to the south. He didn’t give a damn. On his third drink, a woman sat beside him and put her hand upon his. He looked up at her face, but it was wrapped in bandages. She was dressed in the attire of the locals, a petticoat, and a rosary around her neck, faded denim jeans. Erik knew her by her damaged eye immediately.
“Shiloh?” he exclaimed in shock, barely managing to keep her name to a whisper. He could hardly believe that she was still alive. The emotion of a pleasant surprise was to him an unexpected novelty.
“Erik…” she replied quietly. “I knew it was true. I knew you were alive.”
“I can’t believe that you are!” he whispered back to her, nearly losing control of his faculties.
“What the hell is going on here?” she asked. “Are you running an operation?”
He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to say, and then decided that he had nothing to hide. “There’s something wrong with me,” he told her. “When I was being tortured by the IAE, they did something to me that continues to have an effect on my mind. I can no longer trust my own judgment.”
“But why are you here in this camp?” She seemed concerned, her confusion at Erik’s behavior confirmed by his admission to odd judgments as of late.
“I needed to rest,” he continued, “to try to get my bearings. They’re not trying to kill me here. The leader… he’s almost protected me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“Is he one of us?”
“He’s a Qabalist…”
Shiloh said nothing, thinking.
“Are the others dead?” Erik continued. “Morgan and Pixel? Argus?”
“All alive,” she replied. “Elronde as well. You were the only person captured during the operation. Argus has deserted us, however. His whereabouts are unknown, but we have labeled him a rogue agent. There are Negatives all over the country looking for him. As for where Morgan and Pixel are presently, we’ll discuss that after we get you out of here. Overall, considering your intended martyrdom in New Mecca, I believe we came out ahead.”
“I didn’t come out ahead,” Erik snapped at her. “I’ve lost the reliability of sanity. How long was it until you heard rumors of my escape?”
“Four months,” Shiloh said.
“Then for at least four months, I was having LSD pumped through my blood-stream. I hallucinated for that duration, and in the process of this torture, a crystal formed at the base of my skull. It periodically releases crystallized fragments of the compound into me, causing me to become confused, irrational and prone to counter-intuitive behavior, taking my nature into account. I can’t control myself, Shiloh. You can’t trust me anymore.”
“Then you are more like you aspired to be than you ever were previously. In New Mecca, you were reborn.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You speak with a reverence for which I find disdain. Awe, that is.”
She nodded, acceding, and made no apology. “How do things progress here? Have you been further west? Are there outposts within the territory?”
“Which question do you prefer answered first?” he asked, vaguely annoyed.
“Tell me of the city,” she replied. She seemed un-phased by his tone.
“The City of the Alamo is a Christian camp that, like most Christian camps I’ve come across since finding myself wandering through them two months ago, despises the Empire. They are developing their own infrastructure, in my opinion modeled upon the American ideals of the westward expansion in the 1800’s. The Catholic title is just a gimmick. There’s really nothing Catholic about it except that the leader calls himself a Pope and wears ceremonial garb. Half of what he does is for the sheer sake of blasphemy. His followers are too stupid to catch on.”
“You said he was a Qabalist,” Shiloh replied.
“He is. He told me as much earlier this evening, after the service. He won’t let me leave camp before speaking with me further, and has threatened my execution should I try to escape. Guards are at every exit to the camp. I would also suspect that you and I are being watched right now. For that reason, you should leave following the end of our conversation.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she said, gripping his hand.
“You will,” he told her sternly. “You have had to give me to the possibility of death before, and I’m sorry to have to ask you to do it again.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked. “I can send reinforcements. I had to demand Elronde not accompany me. I thought he would give us away.”
“Then I commend your decision. His passion might have perhaps made our encounter end under more tragic circumstances than it will need to now that he is not with us. As for reinforcements, I must forego this suggestion. I know what I’m doing. Pope Simon demands to converse with me. I don’t think he’s interested in killing me, and I know how to speak in the language best suited to shape him. However that turns out, you must leave me, and without further quarrel.”
“Will I see you again?” she questioned, tears in her eyes.
“I couldn’t answer without lying.”
4. Proposal
The Pope’s face was freshly made up for their meeting, the lines on his cross painted with crystal clarity. Its red hue seemed particularly juicy today, as the dream threatened to overtake Erik with much greater authority than he’d become accustomed to. From the moment of his waking, he had been slipping in and out, seeing Shiloh’s face in shadows, and the faces of Morgan and Pixel, Argus, and Dr. Khalid. But walking beside him, through the City of the Alamo’s flower garden shrine to the holiness of Pope Simon, was Simon himself; his face remained his own.
“Have you had time to ponder our conversation?” he questioned, not making eye contact. His hands were wrapped behind his back. In all four corners of the garden were guards, wearing their giant crosses and silver-plated armor. Their revolvers were not drawn, but within inches of their fingers, just waiting to blow Erik away should he attack their master directly. It didn’t seem within his propensity to try something that stupid at this point in his life, and so their presence didn’t worry him.
“We’ve all had time,” he answered. “As for pondering it, I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“Such as?”
“My friends; I want to know if they’re alive.”
“Well, that sort of business can wait. I don’t particularly care to hear your tales of woe about lovers lost. We have an arrangement to come to.” They continued to walk along, as though a confrontation was not in the midst of occurrence. Erik wondered why Simon didn’t want to face him down directly, as he simply mimicked the Pope’s own actions
“Will you simply kill me if I tell you that I’m not the sort to make arrangements of that nature?”
“Of what nature?” Simon laughed. “You have no idea of what I propose.”
“Then do, go on,” Erik suggested.
“I told you that the world is changing. Do you know why? I’ve noticed a fundamental difference between people like us and IAE executors.”
“That difference being?”
“You and I are willing to lie outright - to spread mistruths that we don’t even believe. The IAE, as you would put it, believe their own garbage; not that they are incapable of lying, but in fact that they are excellent at it - particularly to themselves, at least from what I‘ve seen of them.”
Erik laughed at his audacity. “You have no idea what you are talking about. I told you, you’ve mistaken me. I exist to spread no mistruths.”
“Does not destruction need sewn?” asked the Pope. “Beating your fists against a wall will only get your hands broken. You need some weapons to tear down existence; some atoms; some structure. Do not simply outright refuse to listen to me, do not simply give up and force me to have you executed out of your own vanity. I beg of you.” He stopped speaking; he onl
y stared Erik down with eyes that spoke of his own presumed power. Erik’s own eyes simply beamed hysterical laughter in response. Simon’s face looked as though it was made of clay, and his green irises seemed to whirl beneath the stations of his red cross. His eyes looked fashioned of glass, and Erik wondered what monstrosity operated him from deep within his black pupils. “If you wanted to die, you’d have done it long ago. You clearly desire to live now, and unless you do what I say, your desire will be disappointed. So for your own sake, listen.”
“Go ahead,” Erik told him. “Make your proposal.”
“Now, we’re getting somewhere,” Simon said, grinning. “You said it perfectly upon our last encounter. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. As singular opponents, in spite of our own massive capabilities, we are far outpaced by our Muslim oppressors.”
“I don’t care that they’re Muslim,” Erik replied. “That’s incidental.”
“I could not agree more,” Simon answered. “The incident of their being the ones standing in the way of total control is, in fact, the reason that I wish for them to be eliminated. Now, taking this fact into account, I would like to make a few relevant suggestions.”
“Do you like to hear yourself talk?”
“May I continue?” he asked, exasperated.
“Do I have a choice?”
“For one who appreciates chaos, you seem very insistent upon the matter of choice,” he replied, frowning. “I had hoped that you would appreciate being out of control.” Erik said nothing, pondering the statement. For once, Simon had made a point that he agreed with. “Now,” Simon continued, “as to the matter of our agreement. It is only a matter of time until the Muslims fall. The IAE’s days are numbered. The Christians are rising here in the West and in Mexico. The Mormons, the Adventists and all of those other fringe groups will unite under one banner and go to war with the IAE in the east. It’s inevitable.”
“And why is it inevitable?” Erik questioned. “What if the Muslims simply crush you?”
“It’s too late for that,” the Pope answered. “The numbers suggest they’re fighting a losing battle, and considering their base of operations and general supplies come in one direction, across the Atlantic from Eurasia, we have the upper hand. South America is already lost to them. They’re keeping it quiet, but it’s over. The Christian uprising is coming, and it will be bloodier than you can imagine. So, I suggest you put yourself in the corner of someone positioned to protect you from what would otherwise be a very painful backlash headed your way.”
“That’s why you’ve chosen to start a Christian cult; the numbers?”
“Numbers tell great truths,” he informed. “To be honest, I could care less if it were a Christian uprising or a Scientologist uprising. I just see the wave of the future. You see order being scaled back. I see it scaling up. That doesn’t make us opposites. It just means we look at the same thing in two different, equally valid ways. I think that our weaknesses and strengths are interchangeable. Our positions, as well, put us at great advantage over those who would threaten our power.” Erik laughed, disbelieving at Simon’s inability to understand his true intentions in spite of so many previous revelations. “Is something amusing to you?” the Pope asked sharply. The guard’s hands suddenly seemed a little closer to their guns.
“I don’t want power, or protection. I want to do as much harm as I can while I still exist, and when I cease to exist, it will not be because I extended my life by hiding under the wing of a Qabalist mesmerist.”
“Why is it that you are so angry,” Simon questioned; “so brutal? You want to do as much harm as you can - why? You make no differentiation between those who die as the result of your desire for destruction - which is, I admit, sometimes quite admirable. Has the world done you some injustice that you find reprehensible, so much so that you must take your revenge upon its children? If so, then please - be my guest. But do so with free admittance, so that your hypocrisy cannot stand between our inevitable friend-ship.”
“I freely admit this,” Erik spat at him, his voice dripping with all the rage of the crushed souls he felt the urge to justify; he spoke as a people, a nation of victims ground in the machine of reality, as though they spoke back to it themselves through him, with Simon the shining symbol of their oppression. “I care not who suffers as the result of the destruction I wreak upon this world, be they man, woman, child or animal. I care not for spirit, or flesh. The only thing I desire is death. And the only reason I am alive is to bring it to humanity.”
Simon stared at him, smiling now with the snarl of a predator. There was a demon in his eyes, and it was doing cartwheels. “The LSD...” he said. “Did you sample it?”
“Why would you wish to know?” Erik questioned.
“Because… the way you speak; the way you think; it’s not quite right, is it?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you are, perhaps, suffering under its influence, even at this present moment.”
“And so what if I am?” Erik asked. “Would that in some way impact your proposal?”
“It might bolster my offering, indeed,” Simon said. “Of course, a man with an attitude like yours can’t be trusted to be rational. It makes me question my own safety.”
“Will you, after all of your long-winded speech-making, please tell me what it is that you desire from me?”
“So that you may reject it?”
“If that is the case, so be it,” Erik snapped.
“Alright, here it is. You convert, by my hand and under public scrutiny, into my denomination. You bring your network of anti-IAE operatives with you, answering at your beck and call. I know they just follow you and care nothing for your absurd philosophy. You would be hard-pressed to find more than a handful of people who ever understand what the hell it is you go on about and why, anyway. As a result of your complying with my wishes, I allow you to live as my chief commander, a long, healthy, indulgent life in the CAE.”
“The CAE?” Erik asked, holding back laughter at the very idea he believes that he would take the suggestion seriously.
“The Christian-American Empire.”
“That’s creative,” he said, laughing mildly, unable to contain himself.
“You’re amused at my proposal?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “very much so. For I have already decided that I would rather be crucified than ever give credence to your silly, opportunistic lie. You claim we are as brothers, and yet you know nothing of what I represent or why I represent it. That you suggest that I might be so vile as to actually bow to your will, and lick at your boots like a puppy, shows that you do not consider me your equal but your puppet. To that end, you are quite incorrect. If death in this hell-hole is to be my destiny, then I accept it gladly.”
Pope Simon stared at Erik hatefully, and then spat in the dirt before him. He nodded to his guards.
“Arrest this man,” he commanded, sounding vaguely delirious; “if he desires crucifixion, then who are we to deny him the creator’s passion?!”
The crystal in Erik’s skull cracked, releasing a shard of LSD from his brain-stem. He imagined it breaking apart, each fragment catching in his viscera, being absorbed. The veil dropped, a shroud of dream revealed.
He was moving, the world behind him playing out, but in his mind’s eye he was somewhere else. A flicker of shadow brought about memory of another, each grinned at him, awaiting some final moment, shade-shorn faces of Dr. Khalid, scraping him with Allah’s fingernail.
Khalid stares down at him, grinning.
“How does the nightmare progress?” he questions, patting Erik on the face, shining a light into his eyes. “This compound your operation has manufactured is very interesting; very… useful.”Khalid opens Erik’s eyes, blinding him with his flash-light, terrifying him as he drowns in diethylamide. “It’s also very fast-acting… with effects that take far less effort to generate than we have been able to through years of toil. I think that perhaps we have found a u
se for your LSD... Your dosage was far too large, but at minimal quantities, it can be quite useful in convincing people to believe what they are told to believe.”
The memory blackened, disintegrating before him. In time, lucidity returned. Erik opened his eyes, lying on his back in a darkened room upon a filthy mattress. A bug skittered across the ceiling, stopped, observed him. He heard Pope Simon preaching from the next house over, his “church.”
“Worse than the Muslims!” he shouted, speaking of Erik. “Worse than the Jews! Worse than the Qabalists!”
Erik began laughing uncontrollably as Simon condemned the purveyors of his own shameless philosophy. The laughter brought on a wave of diethylamide; he was dragged out to sea, lost in evoked memories. He became transfixed by the bug marching across the ceiling.
Its back is a caravan, carrying his family from the Neo-Baptist Citadel that he was raised in. They leave behind a deep, dried out Lake Erie, and make it less than two miles outside of their former sanctuary before Qabalist slavers meet them, kill his parents.
Jakob Irvine, their leader, stares down at the child, laughing himself into hysterics. A lightning bolt is painted across the madman’s face, from brow to the bottom of his chin, red edges with a blue interior. He reveals to Erik during an ill-fated “training” session years later, while prepping him for a priest-hood in his slaver cult, that the symbol invokes a power within its bearers, and brings ease to others about his heightened status.
“--the very worship of Satan himself!” Pope Simon yelled from the neighboring building, his urgency dragging Erik back into reality. The Pope reminded him of Irvine.
Erik realized that he was still looking at the bug when it fell off of the ceiling. He heard it hit the carpet, and then closed his eyes, trying to wish away the rise of lysergic lunacy trying to overtake him.
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