My head pounded. My limbs couldn't move. Even my mouth had been bound.
My vision focused.
I'd been surrounded by cult members, and soon-to-be's. No sign of Kumar in the crowd. I assumed him to be down at the processing plant, assisting Tyrone with other kinds of cult related madness.
They'd dragged me back to Unit 220. I couldn't tell who knocked me out, but I assumed it to be an individual of strength equal to mine, perhaps a Ss'sik'chtokiwij or worm possessed human.
I'd been chained outside the curtains, probably because they didn't see me as a threat, and could therefore use me to lull the crowd into a false sense of complacency.
I stared in bewilderment as Bird Beak placed a hand on my shell, confessing to his wife about having an affair.
The wife broke down in tears and backed away. She probably would have left the room, but I guess she didn't want to get eaten.
If I hadn't been gagged, I would have asked the man to confess more significant sins, like, say, holding people at gunpoint until a Ss'sik'chtokiwij kills them.
My gag, a modified version of a horse's bit and bridle, had been crafted of some sort of thick acid proof material, possibly solid glass of a rather hardy sort, which made it difficult for me to melt my bonds, my arms and legs shackled securely with chains coupled with an electronic device. I felt they had gone overboard with the chains, as half of the restraints would have been sufficient.
Nothing too insurmountable, but incredibly annoying.
If only the scientists had shown me a few videos about Harry Houdini! Alas, I knew nothing about the mechanics of his clever escape artist tricks.
A chunky curly haired, near balding man with an unflattering sloth-like figure placed his hand on me, confessing that he caused himself pleasure by manipulating his reproductive equipment. I didn't think anything particularly wrong with that, but I did find it strange.
Someone else gave a confession shortly afterwards.
It seemed I had been fashioned into sort of a scapegoat, for a priest is not normally gagged. All I could do was watch this little ritual with fascination and disgust.
It shouldn't surprise you that I found the scapegoat idea more than a little alarming. Although I found comfort in being a martyr for Christ, I feared this gathering would martyr me as testimony against my Lord.
I wondered how many of these confessions had happened while I lay unconscious. Judging by the tears and expressions of disgust on a few other people's faces, I guessed at least a couple, maybe more.
Off to one side of me, Noah proudly observed the ritual.
Not all of them stood. They actually had chairs.
A goony older female survivor from Noah's first expedition had initiated this disturbing ritual. She faced the group, spreading her flabby arms. "There are more among you who have closed yourself off from Ssorzechola. Already you have seen the terror of the fools who sought to look upon our God with impurity in their heart."
She paused dramatically, pacing back and forth before the gathering, staring down random individuals. Her graduation robe billowed as she paced. "You know why they died?"
Another dramatic pause. No one answered.
"They died because our Lord Ssorzechola, blessed be she, reflects the image of our own evil back upon us. It is a sight so awful, so terrible to bear, that those wicked people that look upon her scream and faint dead away. This is why you must purify yourself."
Noah clapped his hands. "Amen, sister Hope!"
"Those people fainted because of darts." A plump faced Mexican teenager crossed her arms. A patch on the chest of her tight jumpsuit `Enriquez.' "I saw darts sticking out of people's necks when they fell."
Instead of admitting her error, the sour looking lady replied, "The people screamed because of the wickedness they saw reflected from their own hearts. When our Lord Ssorzechola marked them with her darts, they fainted dead away."
She paced in front of the crowd again, sweeping them with her intimidating stare. "And so will you, unless you are completely open before Ssorzechola."
Hope placed a hand on my shell. "Ssorzechola has sent this messenger to prepare your hearts for her presence. What you say to him, will be passed to Ssorzechola."
I shook my head no, but she paid me no mind.
"Lord Ssorzechola has promised me this one will never harm us."
Again, I shook my head, violently this time. People backed away in surprise.
"What's its name?" said Ms. Enriquez.
Hope mangled it, calling me shithead. Sadly, everyone thought that was really how you said it, so the name stuck. "His human name is more well known. For he is none other than the Archangel Gabriel."
I suppose I should have been flattered, but no.
"The Archangel is listening. Bare your soul to him, so that you may face Ssorzechola without fear."
People knelt before me, exposing their darkest secrets, some even worshiping me. My every movement got misinterpreted.
A shake of my head they considered a judgment from Ssorzechola.
When I turned my head away from the supplicant, Hope said that Ssorzechola had turned her back to their plea.
When I sighed or tried to lie down, Hope said they try Ssorzechola's patience. I just couldn't win.
I attempted Morse code, repeating a simple SOS.
A bearded old man resembling Santa Claus with facial piercings and an orange jumpsuit noticed what I was doing, so I tapped out, `Hope is lying to you. Get out of here while you still can.'
He must have been a radio tech, for he needed no pen or paper to translate the message. His eyes got really big, and he backed to the far end of the crowd.
"Another judgment from Ssorzechola has been pronounced," Hope said.
"No." Ms. Enriquez held up a notepad. "It says to get out of here."
Hope snatched the pad out of her hand. "You misinterpret the message. The true meaning is all other hope besides Ssorzechola is a lie, and you should get out of those other faiths immediately."
I shook my head a few times, but when someone asked, she said, "That doesn't mean anything."
The clever Mexican girl made her exit.
Other people took this as a cue to leave, but a couple screams changed their minds.
Hope browbeat more people into a confession.
A guy in a motorized wheelchair who cheated at cards.
The sinuous black haired woman who helped him cheat.
A bald round faced man with jowls and a dimpled chin, confessing alcoholism, swearing he would drink no more.
I chomped my bit, but it didn't shatter.
A few people retreated to the back corner of the room, too scared to go anywhere else.
"This is an inquisition! Terrorism! You're a David Koresh!" cried a short gray haired Jamaican woman. "Every time someone goes outside, something kills them, and you stay here doing nothing about it but pray to your alien god and tell lies! You're forcing us to stay here against our will!"
Hope shushed her, with an unpleasantly serene look on her face. "Be at peace! You are only seeing Ssorzechola's wrath. Be faithful, and you shall also see her blessings."
A tall bearded man in a blue t-shirt and jeans pulled a gun on her, clicking back the hammer. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to let me and the other people who don't want to be here with that thing out of here, and you're going to make sure that nothing nasty happens to us when we get out into the hallway."
If the woman refused, I doubt the other bad things which followed would have occurred. Unfortunately, when Hope asked Noah, he said, "Really, it is okay. I have it under control."
Noah marched to the door, yelling in Ss'sik'chtokiwij, "Let the bearded man and five others go unharmed, at least for a day. You can get the ones that come after, but make it secret."
And that's exactly what happened.
With people thinking they were no longer hostages, the tension in the room dissipated somewhat.
I tried lowering my head so my claws could reach the bridle. Not something I could just tear apart. They'd used special tools.
I don't know how they managed to find such a contrivance. Perhaps they acquired it from one of the labs.
I laid down, staring at the floor as more people confessed their darkest secrets to me. If I could only share the gospel with them!
An elderly man expressing his regrets about euthanizing a daughter paralyzed from a vehicular accident.
A closet homosexual.
A woman renouncing Catholicism as a "false religion".
The flabby curly haired guy again, confessing he spent all his free time playing video games, as if such a pastime on this muddy lifeless ball was a bad thing.
I decided, if I ever got released from my imprisonment, I would recite to Ssorzechola the list of sins, and demand that she fulfill her delusional claim of godhood. After all, even Jesus said that if a centurion forces you to go with him a mile, go with him two. If only I had a way to jot down all those petitions...
A blonde, pointy nosed pregnant woman with dark circles under her eyes confessed she had abandoned and neglected family to get to LV 426, and hasn't spoken to any of them since.
I bowed my head, feeling sorry for her, but Hope patted the woman on the back. "You will be rewarded for your sacrifice."
I gave hope the finger (my middle claw, actually), but she only said it didn't mean anything.
As a brunette woman with a masculine face confessed to me about lying on her settlement forms, Sunny pushed a cart loaded with juice and sugar cookies into the room. She must have cooked them while all the ceremonies had been taking place.
The cookies...not dusted with powdered sugar, buried in it. With these, she had brought about a hundred little plastic bottles of orange juice, the bottom tray holding juice of a more unnatural neon green color.
Her next act had the feel of communion, each person receiving a sugar cookie and a drink with the ritual words, "Blessings of Ssorzechola" as they took it. Those that refused to "Drink the blue Kool-Aid" either left the room and got killed, or threw their refreshments on the floor.
The dedicated followers and their companions received different looking sugar cookies from a tub, and the green stuff. When people asked, Sunny explained that the food is a right of Ssorzechola's chosen, not for the outsider, they'd have to speak with a leader to be included in the blessing.
About five people actually did take her up on the offer, which, according to what I've heard, involved sitting cross legged on the floor outside Ssorzechola's tent until their legs fell asleep.
One by one, the recipients of the excessively dusted sugar cookies grew groggy and tired, slouching in chairs and passing out. More people threw Sunny's snacks on the floor, prompting her to whisper in their ears and inject them with drugs on the sly. People fought back, but Sunny fought as strongly as Noah, leaving the rebels injured and unconscious.
Hope, Noah and Sunny took turns dragging the victims, including children, inside the curtain.
Noah instructed the African man in Pizza Hut plaid to bring lots of rope and pillow cases. I could guess where this was going.
I fought and tugged against the restraints, but to no avail. I could only thrash around as they filled Ssorzechola's larder.
My aunt's appetite seemed considerable. I wondered if she were pregnant, or merely suffering from intestinal worms.
The herd thinned. Not positive, due to the blackout, but I believe at least thirty people had either been killed or dragged away to Ssorzechola since the group had first arrived in the room.
A Ss'sik'chtokiwij shrieked.
A second shriek followed. I turned around as well as I could manage in chains, then gasped in surprise.
Mike, that dear amusing friend who once asked me to say things like "Viente man" for a laugh.
He had been fighting, his dark hair and narrow brown body was damp with sweat. Despite his small frame, he looked quite heroic as he strode in his battle torn jumpsuit.
Despite the commotion, Sunny paid him no attention, dragging an unconscious bushy haired blonde toward the curtain.
"Let the woman go!" Mike yelled.
Sunny ignored him, pulling the victim to the flap.
"Hey! Puta! I'm talking to you!"
That's when I noticed the object attached to his arm.
The young man had acquired one of those weapons from Grandmother's house and somewhat foolishly allowed his arm to get punctured. Lines of dried blood crisscrossed the limb from elbow to wrist.
Mike raised the weapon, making a fist.
A beam supporting a tarp curtain exploded, leaving the inner curtain exposed.
He lowered the weapon, aiming it at the possessed woman.
"Service is canceled." He closed his fist again, and the woman burst into a bloody worm ridden pulp.
Alas, not watching his peripheral. I had a bit in my mouth, so I couldn't tell him anything.
Mike reeled backwards as a fist bashed into the side of his head.
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of God," Noah said. "And you are about to discover how fearful."