Molly - Part 4

Chapter 40

"How?"

Bobby King leaned back in his throne, then waved the back of his hand.

"No, it's...it was probably going to happen like this."

Francois took a step up. The throneroom was dark. He could really only see Bobby King; he supposed this was the intended result.

Bobby's eyes clicked.

"Isn't she still in the mainframe?" asked Francois.

"In a million pieces." Bobby tapped the arm of his throne. "Maxis will easily take care of her. It's over; her one lease on this life was that she still had a physical body, could connect the mainframe to the real world."

"But that did happen."

"And will continue to happen. Keep up, pastor." Bobby smiled wide. "This should be second-nature to you."

"There's nothing natural about it."

Francois inhaled.

"Fine. What's our next move."

Bobby looked around.

"Where has your fire gone, pastor? Where has your zeal run off to? We'll be fine. We'll make nice with the machines then move on with our lives. For the better, probably."

"Is it that simple?"

"Of course it's that simple. You just have to become a part of the mainframe. Like me."

The chassis that made up Bobby's body groaned beneath the pressure of his weight.

Francois hesitated.

"That is a hard thing to ask for, Bobby King. You've been hitched for so long you forgot what it was like."

"It was what it was. Come, pastor. Let's go see just how god-fearing you really are."

Francois more than anything didn't want to go. But he couldn't show that he was afraid. This new world hated weakness.

"Why are you hesitating?"

"Because I'm afraid."

Bobby nodded, slowly.

"I was afraid too. To lose my body. To become disconnected. But what you get out of the deal, pastor..."

Bobby sighed.

"You are never alone again."

He crawled back into his throne and bowed his head low. A king without a crown; poetic, in Francois' dead eyes.

***

Five days of the trampling of feet. Marching that never ceased. The men wearing white came and destroyed; they were tired of adhering and were now more in-tune with the world than they had ever been before.

All with Amelia's cross on their foreheads.

"She branded us," cried Heaven. "But we don't care. It's just a sign: we can make it mean something else. We create our history. Us."

They shouted in agreement. Samuel wanted to rip someone--anything's head off. He wanted to kill so that it might all mean something.

"Amelia's dead! Follow my lead and we'll get enough money to buy a ticket off this sinking ship."

It was all practical now. Samuel preferred it. No more religion--no more weird acts of flagellation. Piercing the skin. He didn't like it; he didn't like how other people seemed to like it. None of it made sense.