Universal Loathing (470 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by JMG114 (View user info) at 2006-10-05 08:58:57 EDT
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At 9:26AM on Tuesday, November 14th 2006, a voice came from the sky.
Wall Street traders with coffee in their hands, magazine editors, network executives, struggling actors, and their assorted urban compatriots stopped in their tracks an instant after the voice in the sky began to speak. It was loud, deep, and clear as a bell.
"I am come. I am your Lord and almighty master."
People on every street corner looked into the overcast sky. Traffic stopped. A woman somewhere said, "Oh my God!" Some people asked, "What was that?" Whispers spread quickly, uptown to downtown to Harlem. Had everyone heard it? Even the mayor had stepped outside of Public School 102, where he had been talking to underprivileged fourth graders about local government.
For ten minutes, a light tension blanketed the city. Maybe it was just some freak occurrence. Maybe it was just thunder. Maybe they had all imagined it at the same time; a peculiar coincidence that their grandchildren would be reading about on snopes.com.
The voice silenced any doubt, speaking again, "I am come. I return to my creation to judge all of my beloved children."
Increasingly loud thunder followed the words. Like ants encountering a fire, everyone ran from where they stood. Most screamed as they smashed into each other, bloodying the pavement. People jumped out of buildings. This had to be it. Apocalypse. Armageddon. God collecting his due. Many sank to their knees and crossed themselves. Many others lost control of their bowels right then and there. Cars were deserted, the doors left open. Police sirens blazed. Glass shattered.
Two hundred, thirty-three miles away, the President of the United States received a phone call. Rather, his Secretary of Defense received a phone call from a Colonel Nestor in New York City. The Secretary of Defense, whose closet pastime was wondering how he could become President himself, handed the phone to his boss.
"Yes, Colonel Nestor, what is it?" the President asked from behind his desk in the oval office.
"Sir, we have a code-5 situation in New York City. People are reporting a voice from the sky, sounding like it's quoting scripture."
The President, having never practiced for such an event, was at a loss. "I'm sorry, you said people are hearing voices?"
"Yes, Mr. President. A loud voice that everyone can hear. It's nothing of ours, and we think it could be the precursor to an attack."
"You heard it yourself?" asked the President.
Colonel Nestor took a moment to reply. "Y-yes, Mr. President. It sounded . . .forgive me, sir."
"Sounded like what?"
Another hesitation. "It sounded like the voice of God, sir."
"What?"
National airspace was cleared and the President was on Air Force One a half-hour later. Media reports streamed in. The President watched CNN, was on the phone with NORAD, and listened to an aide all at once.
Apparently, the voice was first heard within a 174-mile radius with an epicenter in midtown Manhattan. While the President was en route, it had repeated variations of its last phrase eight times, each time louder, but still just as clear. The Pope himself called, asking if he could fly to America. News stations around the world went live to New York City.
When the President stepped off of the plane in New York, the voice said, "The time is come. I will speak to my beloved children and judge them on this day." It was reportedly heard as far inland as Chicago. The joint chiefs had to admit that the voice's origins remained a mystery, but that it did not seem to indicate an imminent attack. By all accounts, it seemed to be the real thing. It was decided that the President attempt communication with the voice. The Pope was on the phone again, begging to be the first to address it.
A national curfew was imposed. Tanks patrolled the streets and fighter jets soared through the skies. Surrounded by a cadre of elite military personnel, the President stood in the middle of Times Square just as the voice boomed again:
"I am Lord, Master, and Creator."
The President, armed with a megaphone, spoke up to the cloudy sky. "I am the President of the United States of America. May I humbly request your purpose?"
There was silence for ten minutes. Then, the voice replied, "I am the Mighty One, everlasting and Holiest of Holies. I am come."
Tens of thousands of people across the globe, it was later said, chose that moment to take their lives. Chruches, synagogues, mosques, cathedrals, and shrines were filled to overflowing. People huddled together. They fell to their knees. They beat their breasts and chanted, "Mercy!" over and over. Many cried. The President kneeled, and his soldiers followed suit.
"I am but a humble servant," the President choked back tears, "I will do as you command."
There was one person who, watching the television like everyone else, was not frightened. He sat comfortably in a black, faux-leather chair in front of his computer in the basement of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He was a graduate student studying the reflection, amplification, and manipulation of radio signals over long distances. His name was Gregor de Lauro, and he wore a tight-lipped smirk.
He watched as the President kneeled before the TV cameras of the world. No one knew what or when the voice would speak next. No one, save Gregor. He waited several minutes, then brought a little black microphone to his lips. The microphone was connected to a small, metallic blue box. He flipped a black switch on the box and said, "Stand, o man of the west. I am come to liberate my beloved children, pass judgement on transgressors, and spread universal love across my world as a beacon to the universe I so adore."
A minute later, most of the United States and Canada heard the voice from the sky say, "Stand, o man of the west. I am come to liberate my children, pass judgement on transgressors, and spread universal love across my world as a beacon to the universe I so adore."
The President shakily stood. He beat his breast and said, "We are yours to command, o Lord of Hosts, Creator and Benefactor of humanity."
Gregor leaned back in his chair and smiled. Behind him, his girlfriend and fellow graduate student Emily Tilstein squeezed his shoulder. She whispered into his ear, "Care for a blowjob, 'God'?"
Gregor closed his eyes and sighed. Emily slid around to his front and unzipped his torn jeans.
Over the next few days, people rarely slept. Instead, they prayed, watched television, or cried. Many combined the three. The President was set up in a command bunker in Times Square. All civilian air traffic remained grounded, for fear of offending the Almighty. No one went to work. Indeed, entire skyscrapers sat empty. Global financial markets ground to a halt. Everyone waited on the next words from the sky.
In his basement lab, Gregor said to Emily, "Boost the device. We're going global."
"Seriously?"
"Playtime is over. It's time to spread some of that universal love."
Emily turned a dial on the little machine. She flipped the switch and nodded at Gregor. He spoke into the microphone again. "My most beloved children: today begins my reign on Earth. My kingdom shall be a city without walls."
He glanced at Emily, then continued, "All who keep or bear arms shall lay them down or else suffer my great wrath. All soldiers and warlords shall disarm. Everywhere. Within one week. Do not attempt to deceive your creator. I have spoken."
Emily flipped the black switch again, then asked, "You think it'll work? You're just a voice, after all. It's not like you can really punish them or even know if they're obeying you."
Gregor placed the microphone onto his desk as if it was a holy relic. "Of course it'll work. They're so desperate for answers that they'll believe anything. I didn't create this." He pointed to the TV, where the President was repeatedly bowing to the sky. "They did. They all did. And this is just the beginning."
A news report flowed in about entire armies in Africa throwing their weapons into massive holes. Then, many of the world's governments began discussing the feasibility of eliminating their extraneous weapons. Many in the military opposed such a scheme. "To do so would leave America helpless in case of a foreign attack!" they warned. "What if this 'God' isn't real? Wouldn't He want us to defend ourselves?"
There were also many in the international community who doubted. They appeared on news shows saying, "Why did he speak first in America, and only in English? Everyone's assuming that this 'God' is a Judeo-Christian deity! Where does that leave Buddhists, Hindus, and Shintos, among others?" In counterpoint, there were those who said that the voice from the sky had not singled out a single religion, referring to all of humanity as, "beloved children."
The leaders of Venezuela, North Korea, and Iran denounced the entire affair as an exploitative and provocative fabrication by the United States. They warned that any further attempts to broadcast the voice of "God" into their airspace would be considered an act of war.
A week later, massive earthquakes rocked Venezuela, North Korea, and Iran. Millions were feared dead, and tens of millions went without electricity or running water.
Gregor watched the footage over and over. "Holy shit," he thought, "I didn't do that. What a useful coincidence."
At the appointed time, the President again addressed the voice in the sky. Gregor was ready. The President said, "O God Almighty! Ruler of the universe! We have done our very best to accommodate your request. Your powers, demonstrated against rogue states, are not in question. Please give us further instructions on how to grow closer to your divine radiance."
Gregor replied, "The consumption of meat is offensive to my holiness. Henceforth, no one shall consume the flesh of another creature. I am the all-powerful."
The "vegetarian proclamation," as it came to be known, was easily managed, despite the grumbling of cattle ranchers, the meat industry, fast-food chains, and people who liked meat. "God told us in the bible that we had dominion over the animals, didn't he?" they asked, "So now what else can and can't we do? How many more revised rules are there going to be?"
As it turns out, the rules had just begun.
"The murdering of others offends the divine presence. There will be an end to capital punishment everywhere."
"The rich are to give their riches to the poor."
"Food shall be given out for free. No more are prices to be laid for that which is essential to the life I bestow."
"Governments shall no longer collect taxes from my children. I am the giver of universal love."
People were growing angry at this sky-speaking entity, the purported God. The billions of prayers shouted to the sky went unanswered. Those who had lived their entire lives outside of the deity's new rules found themselves adrift and grappling with their new reality. Entire supermarket chains, Fortune 500 companies, and farmers went out of business. The government teetered on collapse.
People began wearing t-shirts that said, "God is a hippie. I hate hippies," and, "My God is a meat-eater." Some began carrying weapons and eating meat again. Many realized that they escaped divine retribution in spite of daring such things. What kind of a God was a God who couldn't back up his words with action?
Still, Gregor was unworried. "This is exactly how I figured it would go," he said to Emily over vegetarian sushi dinner, "They all claim to want peace, but what they really want is war. They claim to love their brothers and sisters, but they secretly place themselves above them. They say that they want universal love, but all they're really after is—"
"Universal loathing?" Emily asked.
Gregor leaned in and kissed her forehead. "The experiment's almost over. It's time for divine retribution."
"Tonight?" Emily raised her eyebrows. Gregor didn't answer. He walked over to his machine, flipped the switch, and spoke into the microphone.
"O, blasphemers and doubters of the Almighty! Your very lord comes to dwell amongst thee, and still ye sin in my mighty eyes. The time for peace is over. Now comes judgment!"
Gregor wasn't outside, but if he was, he'd have wondered why the overhead clouds considerably darkened. Daytime soon became darkest night. People stopped what they were doing. Again, they quaked in fear.
Gregor indicated towards two pairs of soundproof headphones on a lab table. Emily put a pair on her boyfriend and another pair on herself. The news played the faces of frightened people in New York, Boston, Washington, London, Istanbul, Bangkok, Beijing, and Tokyo as Gregor readied the final piece of his plan.
He turned a dial on his device labeled, "frequency" up to its very highest limits, tilting an indicator needle into a zone marked, "danger." His right index finger lightly caressed the switch. He looked at Emily. She smiled. They were ready. He flipped the switch.
Nothing happened.
He flipped it off and back on. Nothing.
"What the—?" he began, as the sound of heavy, echoed footsteps played simultaneously over news stations across the globe.
Gregor banged on the top of his device with a closed fist, then picked it up and shook it. "What the hell?" he yelled, the sound of mighty footsteps growing louder over the airwaves. Emily stopped watching him and turned to the news, where an eerie white glow shone on the faces of billions of transfixed people.
"Gregor . . ." she choked.
Gregor wasn't listening. He broke the machine open and looked inside. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered, "It's the beta circuit! Looks like it was never connected before I sealed it up and—"
That moment, Gregor realized that the machine could never have worked if the beta circuit hadn't been connected. Not once. Not ever. It was simply impossible. How then, or who then, had—
Some said that the great, white form was Kalki the horseman. Others said that it looked more like Fenrir the wolf. Still others said that it resembled many-armed Shiva, Kali, or a bearded man on a pale horse.
A moment later, no one said anything.
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