by Unce, Bo
"Shut yo' ass up! Nobody cares about yo' shit!" Koochy hollered. Alphonso shrugged and popped his collar while flexing, making himself look like a complete tool.
I needed a way to prove to these people that I was their real god and should be obeyed regardless of what I said. A god who has to explain things to his followers was no true god anyway, I figured.
"My followers!" I yelled at the top of my baby lungs, from my position of power on the penis podium. "My people! I have come... for you! I have come..." I was frantically searching my memories for vaguely religious phrases that would be fitting. Dammit, there was a reason religion was banished to the outer colonies; "shit is stupid, son," I thought in Koochy-speak. What were all those old prophets about, anyhow? All I could remember from my studies was the child molestation scandals that had destroyed the large churches of Earth.
"I have come to deliver you!" I found a good word and used it without hesitation. "Just as the prophecy foretold!"
Both Koochy's compute-pad and Alphonso attempted to translate simultaneously. I feared the result, but could not comprehend it. I studied the faces of my audience; their reaction would clue me in to my next step.
The uproar that had taken the crowd moments ago was settling to a murmur. Aoas' eyes burned a brilliant white as his pupil-less gaze bored deeply into me. I could tell he wasn't yet convinced.
"I have returned, my disciples," I lifted a fist to the heavens. "To the twelve tribes of..." what had Aoas called them? "… Boojina! You have all waited so patiently. Living in squalor and shadowed by despair as you desperately clung to hope of my reoccurrence. Let the downtrodden in your midst rejoice! Today is that holy day. You are here! You are the fortunate, the chosen, who will witness my second coming! The second coming of Cleveland Jesus!"
Koochy jumped back.
"Sheit, mane! Yo ass betta not be comin' on me da damn firs' time. Fuck outta here wit dat second time shit! GOT-dammit," he espoused.
Without acknowledging his inanity, I moved to the crescendo of my sermon.
"And now, my faithful flock, I will deliver you from this frozen land of death. When they speak of this day, forevermore, let them say: For I heard him say, let us go to Old Detroit! I shall deliver you to Old Detroit!
"JESUS CLEVELAND!" I invoked my name in the manner I hoped would trigger some kind of impressive supernatural occurrence that would sway the doubting Thomases in the congregation.
I was not disappointed.
The ground began to tremble and quake as it had after Alphonso had ripped into it with a missile. This time, an unseen supernatural force was the cause. Deep fault lines opened up on either side of the crowd dotting the surface of the ice. The members of the twelve tribes of Boojina grabbed onto each other and held on tight as the shaking intensified. Rocks and huge chunks of ground broke free and were flung far away from us, as if by an invisible hand. At first, it was just one or two big fragments of earth at a time, but as the phenomenon continued it increased in frequency and speed. The frozen lake was disappearing around us in a flurry of flying stone slabs, while the strip on which we stood remained whole, steadfast.
The volume of displaced natural materials was sufficient to build large hills around us. What had, for eons, been a vast, flat frozen lake had transformed in a matter of minutes into a cascading mountain range besetting a narrow valley which stretched on in the direction of Old Detroit in one way and Old Cleveland in the other.
Looking back to Aoas, I could see my plan had succeeded. His mouth was agape; his lower lip, trembling. His empty, blazing eyes had softened and were glistening with tears.
"My... my God..." he muttered in Russian-accented English.
"Now!" I called. Bronson bowed up under me, giving me another several inches of height. "Now, you see! Now, you have seen my works! Now, do you believe? Who among you does not now believe... in my holiness?!" I thundered, feeling unassailable.
Only the howling of the bitterly cold wind could be heard in response to my challenge.
"Gather yourselves! Gather your things!" I raised a single, significant finger to the heavens, paused there for a dramatic, full minute, then leveled my arm in the direction of Old Detroit. "We sally forth... to Detroit! To... glory! For... history! For... freedo-"
"Mane, shut tha fuck up already, a'ight?" Marcus gave me a hard nudge. "You is startin' ta sound like a damn preachy bitch! Chill da fuck out with dat whack ass dogmatic shit, dog!"
"Shhhh!" I hissed back. I couldn't have him undermining me in front of my followers.
"Oh, hell nah! You ain't jes' shhhh me. You ain't jes shhhh Big Kooch! 'phonso, tell me dis foo' didn't jes try ta put da shhh on tha Kooch-train! Kooch, koooooch!" Marcus provided transparency to his thought process.
"He did too," Alphonso nodded eagerly. "He told you to shhhh."
"Awww, hell nah!" Koochy puffed up his chest out and charged me.
While Bronson had made a sturdy impromptu pulpit, neither Bronson or I could maintain our posture under the force of Koochy's tackle. We collapsed onto the cold ground in a heap of thrashing limbs.
This was not very godly of me, I realized. I needed to regain my composure quickly, or I feared my disciples may again become skeptical. Having so many followers was a lot of work! Defeating Koochy physically was not a challenge now that I had a ten foot long arm on my side, upsetting the balance. Bronson expertly shot out and decked Koochy in the jaw with a right-cross. Next, Bronson delivered a merciless hail of body blows, knocking the wind out of my friend with an audible whoooosh. Finally, Koochy was knocked unconscious by a sharp upper cut that caused his teeth to smack together in a way that made the skin on the back of my neck crawl. His body went limp.
Extracting myself from the entanglement that was my torpid best friend, I stood and had Bronson dust me off. I raised my eyes to my flock. Aoas' eyes were riveted on me; his expression was confused, yet earnest.
He still believed in me.
"My people!" I again raised my finger to the horizon. "Let us gooooo!"
Obediently, the cold, huddled masses turned in the direction I had indicated and began to trudge off towards Old Detroit.
"Preston," the badly muscled Alphonso was tapping on my shoulder. "What are you doing? Why are you bringing all these... people... with us?"
I pulled him down closer to the ground so I could speak softly to him.
"Look, something came over me, all right?" It was true. In my second life, there were times where I wasn't certain I was the only conscious force in my body. "It just kind of... happened. Hey, we wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't blown up the fucking lake!"
"Hey, no fair!" Alphonso protested. "You told me to do it! I was just sitting there, minding my own business. And here comes Preston. 'Hey, Alphonso-buddy,'" he did a terrible impression of me. "'say, why don't you blow up the lake so I can yell at you later about it?'"
I rolled my eyes.
"Don't make me dick slap you, Alphonso. Let's get Marcus inside. Let's get TK stable. Fly us in front of all these people, but go low and slow so they can keep up?"
Alphonso shrugged. "Sure. You're weird."
I knotted my brow. "So, it's not the dick arm that makes me weird, it's the followers? I bet you're just jealous."
"Please! I can get followers if I want them. In fact, I have, like, twenty billion followers on my vlog," he boasted.
"Those aren't real people," I shook my head. "I bet you bought those followers."
"You're so mean, Preston!" Alphonso crossed his arms and stuck his lower lip out. I noticed he had an unnatural set of serratus muscles around his chin. They flexed and throbbed like little gills as he pouted. "I did not buy them. I am so not jealous! How many followers do you have, anyway?"
I shrugged. The crowd had swelled in size significantly. I estimated there were almost one hundred forty-four thousand people before me.
"Doesn't matter," I dismissed him. "Here, grab his feet. Lift on three. One... two... three!"
We ho
isted the sleeping Koochy and carried him gently into the GMS-KJH86.
***
After securing Koochy and TK, I joined Alphonso in the cockpit. It had taken me several minutes to deal with my friends and after that I had to take a few minutes to excrete the last of the olestra I had gorged on earlier. In that time, Alphonso had flown to the head of the throng and found a comfortable cruising speed. We were moving at a snail's pace and very low to the ice.
"Hey, what's up," I greeted him.
"Boooooring," he retorted. I was sure he was right. There was nothing exciting about this kind of flying.
"I'm going to go talk to that Aoas guy," I said, flatly.
"Okay. Don't worry, Preston. I'll take care of everything in here," he gave me an incorrect military-style salute. Again, I rolled my eyes as I walked away. God, Alphonso was annoying.
The ship was moving so slow and low that it was easy to jump out. Much easier than jumping from a height of more than a thousand feet; I recalled my recent feat. Aoas and his band of bodyguards were directly behind me, leading the rest of my followers. I jogged over to him.
"Aoas!" I hailed him. "Oops, one sec."
I produced the compute-pad I had lifted from Koochy's inanimate form. A couple of quick clicks and I had unlocked the paid version of the translator app.
"Aoas," I began again. "Tell me your story. How... how did you... all... How did you all end up here?"
Aoas looked at me wordlessly for several minutes. There was a grim determinism in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, strained.
"Eons ago, when the world was young and innocence had not yet been cast to the outer colonies, Putin became obsessed with the prophecies. He destroyed the entire mother Russia in pursuit of the prophecies. He was a true believer," he paused.
"As you know, you commanded us to make ready for your return and the cleansing of the galaxy by preserving samples of our culture. In a place safe from the trials of the great tribulation, we have long ago tucked away pairs of our people; samples. Specimens. Vessels for your holy word. Instruments of your holy work!"
Holy shit, I thought. This was pretty deep. How had I missed this whole Cleveland Jesus cult stuff when I lived back on Earth?
"Yes, I know," I feigned familiarity with his story. "But how did you come to be involved in all of this?"
"My lord," Aoas deferred. "It was my destiny to lead your flock. I am Aoas Nhark; preserver of the people. I was presented to Putin by my parents as the obvious choice for this important position. We were all sealed in these caverns centuries ago. I have witnessed several generations come and go. I am the only one of the first generation who yet lives. Sustained, I am, by this device which has replaced all of the bodily functions required by my brain and head.
"It is a miserable existence, to be sure. But, it has all been made worthwhile today, my lord!" he smiled, toothlessly. "For, my eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Cleveland Jesus!"
I smiled and nodded.
"Aoas, you have done well," I commended him.
My mind was officially blown. All of these people, turned to samples to support my coming. If I only knew exactly what it was that my return required. I hoped they didn't all die while I fumbled around figuring it out.
"I... I know it isn't my place to ask, my lord," Aoas started, humbly. "But, I have waited so long. Is Detroit where... it... happens?"
"Uh... yes!" I stumbled, dumbly. "Yes, Old Detroit is where we will see.. what it is that we will see!"
"If that is so, then the second of your scrolls will be uncovered in that city, my lord. Putin ordered it be put... within... at the same time as we were buried beneath the ice," Aoas volunteered. Man, this guy was full of helpful knowledge.
"Of course it is!" I said more harshly than I had intended. "But what I don't know is where the first of my scrolls is! And, uh, is there a third of my scrolls too?"
Aoas nodded. We made quite the picturesque scene: a dick-armed, hairy baby Jesus strolling along side an ancient Russian entombed in a hovering sarcophagus; walking along a path hewn by a god into snow-capped ice mountains made from sheer will; fulfilling centuries of lore and sayers of sooth.
"Your holy writ was the cause of the destruction of organized religion, my lord. The world had withstood Catholicism, Mormonism, Moronism, Islamism, but nothing could have prepared us for the power of Cleveland Jesusism," he recalled.
"Ugh, my religion is called Jesusism?" I cringed. "Isn't that a bit too close to jism? Or orgism?"
Aoas wheezed out a laugh.
"I never imagined you would be funny, my lord," he told me.
I smiled at the compliment.
"Keep 'maginin' den," Koochy's voice came over the compute-pad. "'cause you ain't funny, son. Not e'en close! Mane, I cain't believe you punched me with yo' dick. We down fo' life! Dat ain't right!"
I closed the translator app.
"Koochy, you're up already? Err, I mean, uh, sorry about knocking you out," I stammered.
"Payback's a bitch, ya know wha' I'm sayin'?" he reassured me in his "I ain't mad at ya" voice.
"I'll be back in the ship in a few minutes. I'm talking to Aoas."
"A'ight, a'ight, playa. Stay up!" he closed his side of the connection and I re-enabled the translator app.
"Go on," I urged him. He nodded and continued.
"Your followers were insatiable. Ravenous. You must understand. Your word came at such a dark time for humanity. All of the systems of man were failing, and obviously so. There was no safety to be had. Traditional religions and government institutions were shunned.
"It was during this time, that Obama the second seized the position of world leader by way of a coup to depose his predecessor, Obama the first. The people wanted one thing, and one thing very badly: the end of organized religion, as recognized by the state. Open practice of any religious rituals or activity was forbidden under penalty of expulsion to the outer colonies," he lectured.
This part of the story was already familiar to me. From the history studies of my younger years, I recalled the narratives around the Great Banishment. The government needed more colonists, badly. ColonAIDS had hit early pioneers hard, decimating their ranks and scaring off new potential recruits. The Good Man instituted a solution to the problem of dwindling ranks of volunteers: conscription!
Religion, contact sports, pornography, drug use, Cross-Fit, were all swept up in the rush to criminalize virtually everything. Conviction was tantamount to expulsion. The early outer colonies were brutal, unforgiving hellscapes which frequently generated stories that made even the most stoic of adventurers shudder. After the initial waves of jettisoned convicts slimmed to a trickle, support on Earth for these activities waned to the point of extinction.
All of this I recalled, surprisingly well given how long ago I had learned it. What I didn't recall was any mention of a Cleveland Jesus in that history.
"And then?" I prodded Aoas to continue.
"And then your scrolls were found. Of course, the last representatives of what had historically been organized religion did their best to conceal, even destroy, your word. Unsurprisingly, they failed. Eventually, they also failed to outpace the Good Man and they lost possession of the parchment when they lost possession of their lives.
"Your holy writings were the remedy for the cancer that humanity had become. It was evident to average citizens; even to babes. So it terrified world leaders. They united to suppress you," he explained.
"I knew it! I knew the man was holding me down," I clenched my fist in grim realization.
"Putin, your most devout and prolific servant, waged terrible world war to secure all three and a third of your scrolls. One was buried in New London. One is kept on Ceres. One third is kept in a necklace Putin rotates among his favorite concubines."
"Where is the last one? That's only two and a third. What's with the third anyhow? Who does a third of a scroll?" I blurted out, in an ungodly manner.
"One scroll was entrusted t
o me, your second most faithful servant, Aoas Nhark," he confessed.
"Whoa, where is it? I want to see!" I interrupted him again.
"It is inside of me, O lord," he explained. "It will kill me to give it to you, but that is a choice I will gladly make. Shutting down my systems. Thank you for letting me see your second coming, my lord."
"What? No! Wait!" I held up all three of my arms. "Don't kill yourself. What are you talking about?"
"The scroll, my lord. It is woven into my very being. It is at the heart of this machine that grants me life. It can only be extracted if the machine is deactivated. Deactivating the machine will kill me. As I said, it is a sacrifice I will gladly make, my lord," he seemed really eager to commit suicide in my name. Was I leading one of those crazy everyone's-a-martyr religions?
"Well, look, one thing for sure... don't kill yourself. I can wait to read the scroll. I'm sure my friend Marcus can figure out a way to get it out of you without killing you. He can hack death," I bragged, then realized I had slipped out of character. "Uh, I mean, you are my chosen vessel. I forbid you from harming yourself! You must continue to lead the twelve tribes of... Boojina. Your time has not yet come, Aoas."
"But... but, I am so very tired, my lord," he begged. "I have been so patient and faithful. Is it not time for my respite?"
"No," I shook my head. "I'm not done with you yet. I am not a lazy god, Aoas. And neither are my devout!"
Without a further word, I turned and walked back to the ship that Alphonso was piloting.
***
SCHMACKK!
Koochy's fist smacked into the fat of my left cheek as I stepped into the GMS-KJH86.
"Owww!" I barked. "That fucking hurt!"
"You damn right it hurt. Hope dat shit hurt like hell! Now I need ta rub my dick on yo' face ta make it even."
"Uh, please, no," I held up my palms in resistance to that suggestion.
"I'm jes fuckin' wit' ya, P!" he hooted. "We a'ight. What you doin wit' dat old ass Aoas?"
"Trying to figure out this whole prophecy thing. He told me quite a bit, actually. Some pretty fucked up shit," I shook my head.
