Psalm of Truth
Through a veil of black, like sheer fabric laid over his eyes, Miles looked down at his hands. Eight fingers. Two stumps. A swirl of dark matter formed to fill the space where those two remaining fingers were meant to be, but it could not replace what had been lost. Or was it would not?
He wasn't quite sure. The static was still so loud in his head, like the crackle of a television out of service. There was a main purpose there, a vague idea of what was to happen next, but he couldn't quite put the pieces together yet. So he stared at his hands.
Turning his left hand over, he traced with his eyes the lines that marked his palm, the creases of his fingers, the fact…
The fact that it was his ring finger that was chopped off. If he wanted to marry, he wouldn't be able to put it on his ring finger. It would have to go on a different one, or maybe he could wear it on the right hand.
And speaking of his right hand? His missing index finger left much to be desired. He wrote with his right hand. He wasn't the least bit ambidextrous. He tried to imagine signing documents or filling out forms with his left hand. A three year old could probably do better. Thank God for computers and typing.
—Wait… no, there was no thanking him.
That bastard didn't do jack shit when the hour was dire. He didn't stop Murkoff from making those patients into walking disasters. He didn't stop Billy from being some puppet to an old man's extremist ideals. He didn't stop that crazy fucking doctor from making trophies out of his fingers.
God didn't do anything. Except watch shit play out like a guy with a bag of popcorn in the back of the theater. And for what? Now Miles was… a host? What did that even mean? He didn't know. But he was angry.
Maybe God didn't want to do anything, or couldn't, or whatever, but he could. And he would. Murkoff had to be shut down. All of it. Every last one of those bastards and their brain probing buddies had to be wiped from the earth. The people had to know just what sort of sick and twisted lies those people had spun. They deserved the truth.
He could give them the truth he had found. Father Martin said something about a gospel? This was a testament.
According to the Word of Miles, Passage 1: The downfall of a corrupted company.
—Amen.