I would imagine that a collapse would bring shockwaves across society as everything would be questioned from religion to the government itself some would say that we just weren't led by a strong man but the majority would be deisilusioned where the American dream where betters would be free to expand the across their rightful hemisphere with endless power food alcohol and drugs would be gone where everyone in the world remembers what our people have done in the name of manifest destiny and despises us for it the American dream is gone all we have left is the world's reality or something like that.
"What Madness Is This?" Volume II: Prophecies in the Dark
- Thread starter Napoleon53
- Start date
Me: HARK THE GODDAMN SOUND, NAPO'S BACK
Also Me:
WEAR SEERSUCKER BY DAMN! YOU INSULT OUR FOREFATHERS
Also Me:
WEAR SEERSUCKER BY DAMN! YOU INSULT OUR FOREFATHERS
Jev-Damnit! Let the man wear what he wants to wear! He's earned the right!
RISE OF THE SECOND PROPHET: THE MIRACLE OF '38
Help me find a worthy chapter picture for this update!
RISE OF THE SECOND PROPHET:
THE MIRACLE OF '38
May 3, 1960
Museum of the Miracle
Metropolis, New Canaan, New United States of America
Orson Roland, a bright young lad of 12, kept the pace alongside his fellow 7th grade Custer Youth Brigadiers as they followed their history teacher, Mr. Watson, through the halls of the Museum of the Miracle. They were in downtown Metropolis, at the heart of the city. It was a city very much American in flavor but far different from what Roland and the other Kissimmee area boys were used to. Kissimmee was cultured, mannered, and altogether more dignified than the hubbub currently surrounding them. Metropolis still had its towering skyscrapers and monuments, but it also had beat-up jallopies running amuck through the streets. It had slums and ghettos, something which President Oswald was working hard to destroy and erase. But above all it had this certain country-fried, weather-beaten, aesthetic that was hard to put a finger on. The fact that the people here had been fighting and scraping together for decades to rebuild after the Starry Wisdom Revolt and the damage done during the Sootstorms was obvious.
Orson could tell a survivor just from the way they looked at outsiders. One man they passed in the hall of the museum was wearing overalls, a button-up white shirt, and a weather-beaten fedora. On his face were deep creases, and under his eyes were bags the size of quarters. On the chest pocket of his overalls hung a medal depicting a silver eagle clutching a cactus flower, marking him for meritorious civilian service during the Starry Wisdom Revolt. He was gently running his hand over bronze plaques marking the names of deceased freedom fighters who helped end Pennington's nightmare. The old man turned and looked at the Custer Youth Brigadiers, locking eyes with Orson for a moment before glancing at the Florida flag patches sewn onto their sleeves. He scowled, and gave them a nasty look. Like many others citizens of Old Mexico and especially New Canaan, they had begun thinking of themselves as more American than other regions of the country. To have a bunch of bubblegum-chewing Pinnie punks from Florida come stomping around the hallowed halls of their monument was almost an insult. These children had no idea what hardship and sacrifice were. They were born into the land of plenty, reaping what the old guard had sewed. The old man bit his tongue and turned his head back to the plaques.
Mr. Watson, a black man with a short, close-cropped haircut and a pair of horned-rim glasses ordered the class to halt in front of a large glass display case. The centerpiece of the display was a large brass bell. "Does anyone know what this is, Brigadiers?"
Tommy Lawrence, a stubby young blonde boy raised his hand. "Sir, it's the bell of the 031, the train liberated by the Second Prophet and brought to feed the starving people of the city, sir." Orson snickered at the young man, always the class know-it-all, who currently had a ball of snot hanging from the end of his nose. Tommy had been having one hell of an allergy attack since arriving in Old Mexico.
Mr. Watson smiled, nodded, and then gestured for Tommy to wipe his nose, causing the rest of the twenty or so children to giggle. "That is correct, Tommy. This bell was the very one that the Second Prophet rang in celebration as he pulled the liberated 031 into the city. Can anyone tell me which station it was?" Several children raised their hands, and Mr. Watson picked Tobias Greene at random. "Yes, Brigadier Greene?"
A handsome young black boy promptly answered, "Cumberland Station, sir."
"Correct!" beamed Mr. Watson, rubbing his hands together. "Cumberland was held by the resistance and law enforcement. At the time of the Miracle of '38, they were about to collapse against the onslaught of Starry Wisdom traitors. If the Second Prophet and his allies had not captured the 031, there is a very good chance that all of Metropolis would have been crushed under Pennington's boot. Let us move on to the next display."
Several civilians were standing contemplating the next display, but they made room for the children. It was a massive painting, at least twelve feet tall and about twenty four across, in a modernist style depicting, at its center, a young man in a preacher's collar heaving a portly fellow with a mustache off of a balcony of some sort. On the left side of the painting was a depiction of the Metropolis skyline, with dozens of people being thrown from windows and balconies as well. On the right side, hundreds of Union soldiers marched through the battered city gates, the Stars and Stripes flying high above them. Orson was a fan of art and media of all sorts, and was hoping his teacher would ask about it.
He wasn't disappointed when Mr. Watson asked the group, "Who can tell me about this painting?"
Orson's hand shot up faster than a rocket to the moon and he proudly said, "Sir, I can! It's the Defenestration of Metropolis by Bernard Althoff, painted in 1958 to honor the 20th anniversary of the Miracle of 1938."
Mr. Watson nodded eagerly and said, "Ah, yes, young Orson! Always the art fan. Tell us more if you can." Mr. Watson was a great teacher who encouraged his students to push themselves and learn more about their personal passions and how they could better serve the state with them.
"Well, the Prophet Graham is depicted here flinging the False Prophet Pennington from the balcony of the Wentworth Hotel, which was Pennington's command center. That side on the left shows the people of the city rallying and tossing the other traitors into the streets as well. On the right is the Union Army arriving to fully bring the city back under control. It is painted in Althoff's signature style, which has become frequently copied by other artists. Heck, sir, even I have drawn it myself from pictures."
"It's a masterpiece!" agreed Mr. Watson, raising his finger upward to drive the point home. "It has been called one of the great American works. I'm proud to see it in person finally. Thank you, Orson, for your explanation. You will have to show the class your copy of this painting sometime. Let us continue!"
The next display was around the corner. The dozens of pairs of glossy, polished Brigadier dress shoes clacked against the marble floors.While they walked, Orson spotted various interesting inlaid mosaics in the walls. One was another, much larger version of the symbol on the old farmer's medal: a giant bald eagle clutching a cactus flower, both surrounded by a wreath of flames. Underneath it was a bronze plaque inscribed with the words, "Igne natura renovatur integra," meaning "Through fire, nature is reborn whole." This referenced both the Sootstorms and also the fires of revolution and counter-revolution that swept through the city, leading to not only a rebrirth of Metropolis, but also of American Fundamentalism under the Prophet Graham. The students all looked up at the mosaic and gave a stiff-arm salute, all well aware of its symbolic purpose.
Just around the corner was a sarcophagus upon a marble plinth. A portrait of an elderly man with white hair and a thin mustache sat upon a wooden easel before it, and an American flag sat folded up into a triangular case at the base of the plinth. Two Zealots in crispy crimson uniforms stood on either side, rigid and alert. "This, children," said Mr. Watson with a stoic face and a tone of respect, "Is the final resting place of Patriot-Saint and Martyr Chick Sheffield. He who stopped the train. He who gave his life so that others might live. It was Patriot-Saint Sheffield who made sure that the way for others was safe. He rode alongside the 031 with a horse laden with explosives. When he gave his life, the hole blown through the armor of the train was enough for the Second Prophet and his followers to exploit. Using this weakness, they were able to accompany it with shock and surprise to overpower the Starry Wisdom traitors inside and take control of the train. Jehovah used Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield to bring about his will. Even the lowest among us can give the last full measure of devotion. What makes Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield so interesting is the fact that the first time they met, during the Second Prophet and the Apostle Andrew's first journey to New Canaan, Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield and the Second Prophet had a religious debate wherein Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield dismissed the Prophet Graham's newly formulated doctrine of universal martyrdom offhandedly. Ironic, as he now rests in Heaven as a martyr himself, canonized by the Church. Can someone tell me an another interesting fact about this hero?"
Elizabeth Wilkinson raised her hand and said, "Yessir, he was the first husband of Lady Graham, the Second Prophet's wife. After he died, the Second Prophet took her as his own to honor the memory of his friend."
Nodding, Mr. Watson replied, "Yes indeed, Elizabeth. What greater way to honor a brother in arms than to take his widow as your own? Truly, the love the Prophet Graham knows no bounds. They have a child about your age right now! Benjamin Franklin Graham. While it is very sad that the Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield is not around to physically see what has become of his sacrifice, he is watching. Numerous ectoplasmic sessions over the years have placed the Second Prophet and the Lady Graham in contact with his spirit, and he is at peace and proud to be the catalyst for such an amazing historical and spiritual event. All hail this Man of Destiny and all hail the Pinnacle Ichor that flowed through his veins!"
"All hail!" came the chorus of cries, salutes, and heel-clicks. Orson joined in, of course, doing his damnedest to to shout louder than all the others. The two Zealots on guard duty also snapped crisp salutes in return.
The assortment of displays and memorials was dizzying and went up five stories. One of Orson's favorites was a beat-up 1920s pickup truck, covered in bullet holes, and with a belt-fed grinder mounted to a stand in the back. It was Candy Johnson's "War Wagon," used during the assault on the train. The fact that such a vehicle, not to mention its passengers, withstood constant fire from the 031 was nothing short of amazing. According to the stories, Candy Johnson drove, while Graham rode in the passenger seat. Buckshot Settle stood in the back, manning the gun. While Johnson suffered two bullets in the right shoulder and the Second Prophet was grazed, all passengers miraculously survived. Truly, Jehovah was in control that day. The whole capture of the 031 was so fantastic and legendary, and it put Orson in awe to see the actual relics of this fateful moment in history.
Another popular display was the blood-soaked, mangled uniform of the Traitor Pennington. Mr. Watson asked his pupils, "Who can tell me about the last day of this lecherous enemy of the state?"
Tommy once again piped up, this time his nose not dripping snot but his voice still an annoying nasal. "Sir, I can. After leaving the supplies at Cumberland Station, the Second Prophet rallied the, uh, people. They, um, they marched on the hotel where Pennington was and chucked him out a window when the planes came."
Mr. Watson chuckled lightly and said, "Thank you, Tommy. But that's only part of it. After resupplying Cumberland Station, the Second Prophet was welcomed as a Pinnacle Hero by the people, who threw the poorly-fluidated disgraceful Elders out of the city, ending his status as a fugitive. Using his legendary charisma and outstanding leadership skills, Graham united the people of Metropolis, from the farmers and busboys on up to the soldiers and bankers, into a force that told Pennington 'we are sick and tired of your treason.' They patched the 031 up, loaded it up with fighters, and steamed over to the City of Tomorrow Station. The Republican Union Aeroforce and loyalist patriot elements of the Overton Agency had commenced a bombing operation of the Starry Wisdom strongholds at the same time. Despite risking getting blown to kingdom come, the Second Prophet led the attack, blowing the whistle of the 031 as it roared on into the station, announcing the final reckoning had arrived. Fighting raged for the next two days, with massive losses on both sides. But the Second Prophet and his followers fought on! Room by room! House by house!"
Mr. Watson's voice shook with inspired emotion as he pounded his fist into his other hand at every word to add emphasis. "They cleared out the treasonous vermin and stormed the Wentworth Hotel, trapping Pennington in the upper levels. At 5:03, on July 10, 1938, freedom fighters broke through the final resistance and took Pennington prisoner. For his crimes against the state, President, and Jehovah, Graham throttled him by the neck before flinging him out of a nearby balcony window. The tyrant's body had to be poured out of the uniform you see before you. Legend has it that every July 8, you can see the ghostly apparition of Pennington falling from the balcony, doomed to relive his final, terrifying moment as part of his eternal infernal punishment. Pennington's defenestration marked the beginning of the end for the rebellion, and Overton men began to surrender in their masses, even in the sewers and the Metropolitan Tunnel System which they had held so tenaciously. With Pennington the False Prophet a mere splatter on the pavement, their will to fight was gone. Cut off the head, and the rest of the snake dies. This was the real Miracle of '38. It was not merely the taking of an armored train full of soldiers against impossible odds. It was not merely the taking of an armored train and replenishing the true freedom fighters against impossible odds. It was doing both those things, rallying a city, deposing an illegitimate and blasphemous tyrant, and opening the gates for the military to finally arrive and wipe out the last vestiges of the disgusting insurgency." Let us ascend to the fifth floor, students, and behold what happens to traitors!"
Slowly, the entire group of children marched up the marble steps to the fifth and final floor of the Museum of the Miracle. A sign above the main entrance to the central chamber read, "Thus Always to Traitors!" and depicted a clenched fist wielding a cactus flower. Unlike the other levels of the museum, which consisted of spiraling hallways full of exhibits, this level was one giant room, the ceiling some fifty feet high. Blue lights shined down from above like stars. Orson grew almost dizzy from looking up. The ceiling was also stair-stepped, which gave an illusion of an almost infinite height that messed with Orson's eyes as well. But the main exhibit was what was on the floor. The entire floor covered in an epoxy, keeping the contents underneath in place and protected. Underneath the acrylic, though, was the most horrific sight Orson had ever seen in all his young life. The entire floor, which had to have been at least 60 feet by 70 feet, was covered in human skulls, many of which had severe trauma or chunks missing. They were neatly arranged into stripes, with bits and pieces of other bones mixed into the gaps. They had all been perfectly bleached, and the blue lights from above made every detail quite clear. All the students gasped. They had all heard stories about the "Treason Room," but had never actually seen it. In the center of the room stood a statue of the Second Prophet, his jaw squared and his mane slicked, and his arm was the Sword of Destiny. The Sword was plunging into the chest of a man in an Overton uniform who had a demonic, howling, agonized face. Suspended from the ceiling was a depiction of the Njarl, the Angel of Destiny, his hands clutched over Graham's, driving the sword into the man's heart. It was plain and clear to see what this meant, even to a group of 12 year olds, but it was nevertheless spelled out letters etched into the base of the morbid statue:
"What is done in the Dark shall be brought to the Light."
Orson swallowed hard. It was breathtaking. A sea of traitors, their heads made into stepping stones for Pinnacle Men to trod to behold the memory of their defeat and extinction. Like an old time Mongol warlord, Joseph Steele wasn't the type to take rebellion lightly. Not a single man who surrendered following Pennington's death was granted a prison sentence. Every single last one was executed without hesitation, most by single bullets to the forehead, made obvious by the condition of the skulls. Aside from their skulls being preserved for morbid tile-work, the rest of their bodies were incinerated in enormous bonfires and industrial ovens. The people of Metropolis had no more patience for these backstabbers, and they wanted to exterminate the entirety of this treasonous infestation from their city. Over the last couple decades, Metropolis, New Canaan, and Old Mexico as a whole continued to play up to stereotypes marking them as less educated, hard-drinking, fast-living cowpokes living a life more Pinnacle than all other regions of the country. They had been through hell and survived. Why shouldn't they be proud? Life was often short, fast, and loud. Why shouldn't they go out with bangs? Their fathers and mothers had fought the largest uprising the Union had ever seen since the rise of the Manifest Destiny Party. Their region was the stomping grounds of the Second Prophet, a man tertiary only to Jesus Christ and Aaron Burr to most Americans. The American Empire, the New United States that President Oswald was supplying with good times and rampant wealth, was built on the backs of Old Mexico.
It was at that moment that Orson understood the scowling old farmer, in that he would never understand that scowling old farmer. He couldn't imagine living through all that had befallen this city, state, and region. When the travel commercials famously said, "Visit Old Mexico: it's like a whole 'nother country," they weren't joking. A region poisoned by chemical dust storms and vastly depopulated by said storms and one of the largest wars in human history (in the form of Operation: Manifest Climax) had reforged itself into an economic powerhouse and was the site of the world's first nuclear energy plant, the rights to which Governor Zeke T. Oglethorpe had secured the following spring and was currently under construction. It had come a long way, and it would be very interesting indeed to watch its future evolutions.
Mr. Watson led the group of children back down the steps in silence, not saying a word.
RISE OF THE SECOND PROPHET:
THE MIRACLE OF '38
May 3, 1960
Museum of the Miracle
Metropolis, New Canaan, New United States of America
Orson Roland, a bright young lad of 12, kept the pace alongside his fellow 7th grade Custer Youth Brigadiers as they followed their history teacher, Mr. Watson, through the halls of the Museum of the Miracle. They were in downtown Metropolis, at the heart of the city. It was a city very much American in flavor but far different from what Roland and the other Kissimmee area boys were used to. Kissimmee was cultured, mannered, and altogether more dignified than the hubbub currently surrounding them. Metropolis still had its towering skyscrapers and monuments, but it also had beat-up jallopies running amuck through the streets. It had slums and ghettos, something which President Oswald was working hard to destroy and erase. But above all it had this certain country-fried, weather-beaten, aesthetic that was hard to put a finger on. The fact that the people here had been fighting and scraping together for decades to rebuild after the Starry Wisdom Revolt and the damage done during the Sootstorms was obvious.
Orson could tell a survivor just from the way they looked at outsiders. One man they passed in the hall of the museum was wearing overalls, a button-up white shirt, and a weather-beaten fedora. On his face were deep creases, and under his eyes were bags the size of quarters. On the chest pocket of his overalls hung a medal depicting a silver eagle clutching a cactus flower, marking him for meritorious civilian service during the Starry Wisdom Revolt. He was gently running his hand over bronze plaques marking the names of deceased freedom fighters who helped end Pennington's nightmare. The old man turned and looked at the Custer Youth Brigadiers, locking eyes with Orson for a moment before glancing at the Florida flag patches sewn onto their sleeves. He scowled, and gave them a nasty look. Like many others citizens of Old Mexico and especially New Canaan, they had begun thinking of themselves as more American than other regions of the country. To have a bunch of bubblegum-chewing Pinnie punks from Florida come stomping around the hallowed halls of their monument was almost an insult. These children had no idea what hardship and sacrifice were. They were born into the land of plenty, reaping what the old guard had sewed. The old man bit his tongue and turned his head back to the plaques.
Mr. Watson, a black man with a short, close-cropped haircut and a pair of horned-rim glasses ordered the class to halt in front of a large glass display case. The centerpiece of the display was a large brass bell. "Does anyone know what this is, Brigadiers?"
Tommy Lawrence, a stubby young blonde boy raised his hand. "Sir, it's the bell of the 031, the train liberated by the Second Prophet and brought to feed the starving people of the city, sir." Orson snickered at the young man, always the class know-it-all, who currently had a ball of snot hanging from the end of his nose. Tommy had been having one hell of an allergy attack since arriving in Old Mexico.
Mr. Watson smiled, nodded, and then gestured for Tommy to wipe his nose, causing the rest of the twenty or so children to giggle. "That is correct, Tommy. This bell was the very one that the Second Prophet rang in celebration as he pulled the liberated 031 into the city. Can anyone tell me which station it was?" Several children raised their hands, and Mr. Watson picked Tobias Greene at random. "Yes, Brigadier Greene?"
A handsome young black boy promptly answered, "Cumberland Station, sir."
"Correct!" beamed Mr. Watson, rubbing his hands together. "Cumberland was held by the resistance and law enforcement. At the time of the Miracle of '38, they were about to collapse against the onslaught of Starry Wisdom traitors. If the Second Prophet and his allies had not captured the 031, there is a very good chance that all of Metropolis would have been crushed under Pennington's boot. Let us move on to the next display."
Several civilians were standing contemplating the next display, but they made room for the children. It was a massive painting, at least twelve feet tall and about twenty four across, in a modernist style depicting, at its center, a young man in a preacher's collar heaving a portly fellow with a mustache off of a balcony of some sort. On the left side of the painting was a depiction of the Metropolis skyline, with dozens of people being thrown from windows and balconies as well. On the right side, hundreds of Union soldiers marched through the battered city gates, the Stars and Stripes flying high above them. Orson was a fan of art and media of all sorts, and was hoping his teacher would ask about it.
He wasn't disappointed when Mr. Watson asked the group, "Who can tell me about this painting?"
Orson's hand shot up faster than a rocket to the moon and he proudly said, "Sir, I can! It's the Defenestration of Metropolis by Bernard Althoff, painted in 1958 to honor the 20th anniversary of the Miracle of 1938."
Mr. Watson nodded eagerly and said, "Ah, yes, young Orson! Always the art fan. Tell us more if you can." Mr. Watson was a great teacher who encouraged his students to push themselves and learn more about their personal passions and how they could better serve the state with them.
"Well, the Prophet Graham is depicted here flinging the False Prophet Pennington from the balcony of the Wentworth Hotel, which was Pennington's command center. That side on the left shows the people of the city rallying and tossing the other traitors into the streets as well. On the right is the Union Army arriving to fully bring the city back under control. It is painted in Althoff's signature style, which has become frequently copied by other artists. Heck, sir, even I have drawn it myself from pictures."
"It's a masterpiece!" agreed Mr. Watson, raising his finger upward to drive the point home. "It has been called one of the great American works. I'm proud to see it in person finally. Thank you, Orson, for your explanation. You will have to show the class your copy of this painting sometime. Let us continue!"
The next display was around the corner. The dozens of pairs of glossy, polished Brigadier dress shoes clacked against the marble floors.While they walked, Orson spotted various interesting inlaid mosaics in the walls. One was another, much larger version of the symbol on the old farmer's medal: a giant bald eagle clutching a cactus flower, both surrounded by a wreath of flames. Underneath it was a bronze plaque inscribed with the words, "Igne natura renovatur integra," meaning "Through fire, nature is reborn whole." This referenced both the Sootstorms and also the fires of revolution and counter-revolution that swept through the city, leading to not only a rebrirth of Metropolis, but also of American Fundamentalism under the Prophet Graham. The students all looked up at the mosaic and gave a stiff-arm salute, all well aware of its symbolic purpose.
Just around the corner was a sarcophagus upon a marble plinth. A portrait of an elderly man with white hair and a thin mustache sat upon a wooden easel before it, and an American flag sat folded up into a triangular case at the base of the plinth. Two Zealots in crispy crimson uniforms stood on either side, rigid and alert. "This, children," said Mr. Watson with a stoic face and a tone of respect, "Is the final resting place of Patriot-Saint and Martyr Chick Sheffield. He who stopped the train. He who gave his life so that others might live. It was Patriot-Saint Sheffield who made sure that the way for others was safe. He rode alongside the 031 with a horse laden with explosives. When he gave his life, the hole blown through the armor of the train was enough for the Second Prophet and his followers to exploit. Using this weakness, they were able to accompany it with shock and surprise to overpower the Starry Wisdom traitors inside and take control of the train. Jehovah used Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield to bring about his will. Even the lowest among us can give the last full measure of devotion. What makes Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield so interesting is the fact that the first time they met, during the Second Prophet and the Apostle Andrew's first journey to New Canaan, Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield and the Second Prophet had a religious debate wherein Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield dismissed the Prophet Graham's newly formulated doctrine of universal martyrdom offhandedly. Ironic, as he now rests in Heaven as a martyr himself, canonized by the Church. Can someone tell me an another interesting fact about this hero?"
Elizabeth Wilkinson raised her hand and said, "Yessir, he was the first husband of Lady Graham, the Second Prophet's wife. After he died, the Second Prophet took her as his own to honor the memory of his friend."
Nodding, Mr. Watson replied, "Yes indeed, Elizabeth. What greater way to honor a brother in arms than to take his widow as your own? Truly, the love the Prophet Graham knows no bounds. They have a child about your age right now! Benjamin Franklin Graham. While it is very sad that the Patriot-Saint Martyr Sheffield is not around to physically see what has become of his sacrifice, he is watching. Numerous ectoplasmic sessions over the years have placed the Second Prophet and the Lady Graham in contact with his spirit, and he is at peace and proud to be the catalyst for such an amazing historical and spiritual event. All hail this Man of Destiny and all hail the Pinnacle Ichor that flowed through his veins!"
"All hail!" came the chorus of cries, salutes, and heel-clicks. Orson joined in, of course, doing his damnedest to to shout louder than all the others. The two Zealots on guard duty also snapped crisp salutes in return.
The assortment of displays and memorials was dizzying and went up five stories. One of Orson's favorites was a beat-up 1920s pickup truck, covered in bullet holes, and with a belt-fed grinder mounted to a stand in the back. It was Candy Johnson's "War Wagon," used during the assault on the train. The fact that such a vehicle, not to mention its passengers, withstood constant fire from the 031 was nothing short of amazing. According to the stories, Candy Johnson drove, while Graham rode in the passenger seat. Buckshot Settle stood in the back, manning the gun. While Johnson suffered two bullets in the right shoulder and the Second Prophet was grazed, all passengers miraculously survived. Truly, Jehovah was in control that day. The whole capture of the 031 was so fantastic and legendary, and it put Orson in awe to see the actual relics of this fateful moment in history.
Another popular display was the blood-soaked, mangled uniform of the Traitor Pennington. Mr. Watson asked his pupils, "Who can tell me about the last day of this lecherous enemy of the state?"
Tommy once again piped up, this time his nose not dripping snot but his voice still an annoying nasal. "Sir, I can. After leaving the supplies at Cumberland Station, the Second Prophet rallied the, uh, people. They, um, they marched on the hotel where Pennington was and chucked him out a window when the planes came."
Mr. Watson chuckled lightly and said, "Thank you, Tommy. But that's only part of it. After resupplying Cumberland Station, the Second Prophet was welcomed as a Pinnacle Hero by the people, who threw the poorly-fluidated disgraceful Elders out of the city, ending his status as a fugitive. Using his legendary charisma and outstanding leadership skills, Graham united the people of Metropolis, from the farmers and busboys on up to the soldiers and bankers, into a force that told Pennington 'we are sick and tired of your treason.' They patched the 031 up, loaded it up with fighters, and steamed over to the City of Tomorrow Station. The Republican Union Aeroforce and loyalist patriot elements of the Overton Agency had commenced a bombing operation of the Starry Wisdom strongholds at the same time. Despite risking getting blown to kingdom come, the Second Prophet led the attack, blowing the whistle of the 031 as it roared on into the station, announcing the final reckoning had arrived. Fighting raged for the next two days, with massive losses on both sides. But the Second Prophet and his followers fought on! Room by room! House by house!"
Mr. Watson's voice shook with inspired emotion as he pounded his fist into his other hand at every word to add emphasis. "They cleared out the treasonous vermin and stormed the Wentworth Hotel, trapping Pennington in the upper levels. At 5:03, on July 10, 1938, freedom fighters broke through the final resistance and took Pennington prisoner. For his crimes against the state, President, and Jehovah, Graham throttled him by the neck before flinging him out of a nearby balcony window. The tyrant's body had to be poured out of the uniform you see before you. Legend has it that every July 8, you can see the ghostly apparition of Pennington falling from the balcony, doomed to relive his final, terrifying moment as part of his eternal infernal punishment. Pennington's defenestration marked the beginning of the end for the rebellion, and Overton men began to surrender in their masses, even in the sewers and the Metropolitan Tunnel System which they had held so tenaciously. With Pennington the False Prophet a mere splatter on the pavement, their will to fight was gone. Cut off the head, and the rest of the snake dies. This was the real Miracle of '38. It was not merely the taking of an armored train full of soldiers against impossible odds. It was not merely the taking of an armored train and replenishing the true freedom fighters against impossible odds. It was doing both those things, rallying a city, deposing an illegitimate and blasphemous tyrant, and opening the gates for the military to finally arrive and wipe out the last vestiges of the disgusting insurgency." Let us ascend to the fifth floor, students, and behold what happens to traitors!"
Slowly, the entire group of children marched up the marble steps to the fifth and final floor of the Museum of the Miracle. A sign above the main entrance to the central chamber read, "Thus Always to Traitors!" and depicted a clenched fist wielding a cactus flower. Unlike the other levels of the museum, which consisted of spiraling hallways full of exhibits, this level was one giant room, the ceiling some fifty feet high. Blue lights shined down from above like stars. Orson grew almost dizzy from looking up. The ceiling was also stair-stepped, which gave an illusion of an almost infinite height that messed with Orson's eyes as well. But the main exhibit was what was on the floor. The entire floor covered in an epoxy, keeping the contents underneath in place and protected. Underneath the acrylic, though, was the most horrific sight Orson had ever seen in all his young life. The entire floor, which had to have been at least 60 feet by 70 feet, was covered in human skulls, many of which had severe trauma or chunks missing. They were neatly arranged into stripes, with bits and pieces of other bones mixed into the gaps. They had all been perfectly bleached, and the blue lights from above made every detail quite clear. All the students gasped. They had all heard stories about the "Treason Room," but had never actually seen it. In the center of the room stood a statue of the Second Prophet, his jaw squared and his mane slicked, and his arm was the Sword of Destiny. The Sword was plunging into the chest of a man in an Overton uniform who had a demonic, howling, agonized face. Suspended from the ceiling was a depiction of the Njarl, the Angel of Destiny, his hands clutched over Graham's, driving the sword into the man's heart. It was plain and clear to see what this meant, even to a group of 12 year olds, but it was nevertheless spelled out letters etched into the base of the morbid statue:
"What is done in the Dark shall be brought to the Light."
Orson swallowed hard. It was breathtaking. A sea of traitors, their heads made into stepping stones for Pinnacle Men to trod to behold the memory of their defeat and extinction. Like an old time Mongol warlord, Joseph Steele wasn't the type to take rebellion lightly. Not a single man who surrendered following Pennington's death was granted a prison sentence. Every single last one was executed without hesitation, most by single bullets to the forehead, made obvious by the condition of the skulls. Aside from their skulls being preserved for morbid tile-work, the rest of their bodies were incinerated in enormous bonfires and industrial ovens. The people of Metropolis had no more patience for these backstabbers, and they wanted to exterminate the entirety of this treasonous infestation from their city. Over the last couple decades, Metropolis, New Canaan, and Old Mexico as a whole continued to play up to stereotypes marking them as less educated, hard-drinking, fast-living cowpokes living a life more Pinnacle than all other regions of the country. They had been through hell and survived. Why shouldn't they be proud? Life was often short, fast, and loud. Why shouldn't they go out with bangs? Their fathers and mothers had fought the largest uprising the Union had ever seen since the rise of the Manifest Destiny Party. Their region was the stomping grounds of the Second Prophet, a man tertiary only to Jesus Christ and Aaron Burr to most Americans. The American Empire, the New United States that President Oswald was supplying with good times and rampant wealth, was built on the backs of Old Mexico.
It was at that moment that Orson understood the scowling old farmer, in that he would never understand that scowling old farmer. He couldn't imagine living through all that had befallen this city, state, and region. When the travel commercials famously said, "Visit Old Mexico: it's like a whole 'nother country," they weren't joking. A region poisoned by chemical dust storms and vastly depopulated by said storms and one of the largest wars in human history (in the form of Operation: Manifest Climax) had reforged itself into an economic powerhouse and was the site of the world's first nuclear energy plant, the rights to which Governor Zeke T. Oglethorpe had secured the following spring and was currently under construction. It had come a long way, and it would be very interesting indeed to watch its future evolutions.
Mr. Watson led the group of children back down the steps in silence, not saying a word.
Austro-Jewish, German, and Irish. That latter bit really ties it together.
Patriot-Saint and Martyr Chick Sheffield sacrifices himself by blowing a hole through the armor of the 031
Again, I like seeing the events of ol' Graham and his gang as seen in a more contemporary point of view, deified by those after. It increases the twistedness of it all by showing children worshipping what is essentially war crimes committed by their government. I especially like the description of the treason room, as a room full of carefully-placed remains of all the murdered victims of the purge surrounding a massive statue of a man murdering another man while some eldritch being guides the hand (hopefully, smirking) is pretty horrifying. I also like seeing how people celebrate Graham being a douche and stealing a dead person's widow like it's some blessing.
If there is some criticism I feel is necessary, is that an event like this shouldn't just be limited to only seeing it from a contemporary point of view. I feel like if we get to see the Defenestration of Metropolis in the eyes of that lovable ragtag band, we'd get some progression on their character. See Andrew react with both awe and horror at the power of Graham. See Graham feel vindicated in his belief in Njarl and become more egotistical. And even see Norma slowly become more... aroused by that Pinnacle display, even if it clashes with her disgust at Graham's growing ego and her faithfulness to Chick.
If there is some criticism I feel is necessary, is that an event like this shouldn't just be limited to only seeing it from a contemporary point of view. I feel like if we get to see the Defenestration of Metropolis in the eyes of that lovable ragtag band, we'd get some progression on their character. See Andrew react with both awe and horror at the power of Graham. See Graham feel vindicated in his belief in Njarl and become more egotistical. And even see Norma slowly become more... aroused by that Pinnacle display, even if it clashes with her disgust at Graham's growing ego and her faithfulness to Chick.
Is it weird that I am scared by this and not by Njarl, Lovecraft being possessed or cannibals thieving graves or even cocaine-laced candies? I mean, this is the gallows in "gallows humour".
I am shocked, but proud. Well done Comrade-Patriot @Napoleon53, well done.
That was horrifying, the Union building a monument to celebrate their atrocities. Children being taught about it as something to admire just makes it even more twisted.
Yeah, I'm sure that's what he did.
This is coming from the Oswald Era, of all places.
Picture ideas:
The Prophet Graham visits the remnants of Train 031
Propaganda portraits conflate the Miracle of '38 with the war in South America
The Prophet Graham visits the remnants of Train 031
Propaganda portraits conflate the Miracle of '38 with the war in South America
Oh we will! This is far from over. While we will move on to other storylines now, it will all intersect and slowly be revealed through flashbacks, memories, and other interesting forms of update. It's alllll part of the plan.
That's funny. I thought Njarl was an allusion to Nyarlathotep from Cthulhu Mythos...
That anime girl is Nyarlathotep, an lighter and softer anime girl version of it.
