The Book Of Joseph (Far Cry 5)

Part Seven.

VII

"Forget everything you know, for everything you know will be destroyed."

Sermon from the Project at Eden's Gate.

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The facility was in a poor neighbourhood, in an area that was nearly deserted and made up mostly of warehouses. Those who lived near the hospital met those of the criteria for admission there and every encounter had the potential to turn ugly. One evening as I was heading into the hospital for a night shift. I had the bad luck to run into three men.

I had just barely passed them when they jumped me. I don't remember what they took, but I will never forget what they gave me.

Doubtless disappointed by the lack of money in my pockets, they decided to make me pay for my poorness. Two of them grabbed me by the arms and the thirds began punching me. When he tired, they switched roles. They beat me with unbearable contempt that the rich have for a servant. I was invisible to them, nothing more than a punching bag at a rundown gym. More than their blows, it was their disdain that broke me.

I was not able to physically fight off three opponenets, so, as men often do, I turned inwards. I beseeched the Voice that had been silent for so long, accused it of having abandoned me after promising me a destiny, of having lied to me, and played with my innocence. I cursed it and insulted it - in my head. I had suffered so much for it since my childhood: our separation, the adoptive families, the miserable jobs, and the humiliation.

I realised that the Voice had been the source of all my misfortune, pushing people away and narrowing my job options. It was all a cruel game.

But then the Voice answered me. The Voice broke its silence and showed me.

And I saw.

I was no longer on a poorly lit street - the Voice picked that day to show me our future. The worst possible future.

The end of the world, complete collapse, call it what you will. Everything you know will soon be gone. Humanity has been condemned it is inevitable, imminent, and terrible.

The Voice did not show me exactly how it all would end.

Humanity is incredibly imaginative when it comes to self-destructrion. It could last the brief instant of an explosion or it could be slow and agonisingly painful. It could take the form of a century of resource depletion.

We have brought about so many catastrophes, created so many new threats, Our corruption is so deep that we have earned more than just one punishment. I hope the Voice condemns each person to the ending he or she fears more, to know that it would take back what it had given without pity in a final, multi-pronged curse. It was inspired by the cruelty of mankind, we who kill, lie, and steal what others hold most sacred. No one is onnocent. Each person will experience the end they dread.

May those who fear the atomic bomb watch as the world disappears in a sccuession of mushroom clouds that vapoirse everything they hold dear.

May tribes in the Amazon rain forest see their serpent gods devour their families and villages.

May those who fear the volcano gods be consumed by red-hot ashes and lava.

May those who fear illness be struck down by epidemics with neither cure nor vaccine.

May sea people be drowned by waves so high they obscure the sky.

May ice peoples die of cold and desert peoples be burned by the flame of the sun.

May drug addicts die without their drug, alcoholics without their drink and perverts without their perversions.

May scientists exhaust themselves along with the world's resources and eat each other before dying of hunger.

May those who pray to the stars dissapear into the dark dust as asteroids crash into the Earth.

May believers see the demons from their holy books rise up from the bowels of the earth or descend from the sky to vomit the ice and sulphur of their hells unto humanity.

This is what I desire from the bottom of my heart: to gather up the sum of all our fears, all our pain, and everything inflicted upon us. In light of what we have committed, this punishment is just.

But the Voice also told me that humanity would not disappear entirely. Billions of people would die, yes. But some would be saved.

A few thousand pure souls, whose mission would be to start over and repopulate the earth.

This was our last chance and it was up to me, Joseph Seed, son of the most horrible man, bellhop at the most miserable hotel, garbage collector, and then a caretaker who could never care for anyone, chosen to take on the greatest responsibility ever shouldered by man - the responsibility of selecting and leading the chosen ones who would save not only a people, but the entire human race. I was only a son, but I had become the Father.

A father who had to gather his children, and it was essential that two of them be Jacob and John. To fulfill our destiny, the brothers had to be reunited. Then the Voice went silent and I was suddenly back on the street.

The man beating me stopped with his fist in mid-air. He gave me a strange look. In turn, I gazed back at him curiously. I felt no physical pain, no anger. I now had a very clear mission to fulfil. The man told the others it was enough, that I looked like a martyr thrown to the lions. He felt he had done me a favour by hitting me, and it gave him the creeps.

He was the ringleader so the others obeyed him begrudgingly, like children who just had their toy taken away.

When I arrived at the hospital, my shirt was covered in dried blood. One eye was swollen shut and one rib had been broken, making it painful to breathe.

But I was a new man.

The on-call nurses treated my wounds while they complained about safety issues and layoffs, which also affected the police. Then they moved on to unmanageable shift schedules, insurance, overtime compensation, and broken-down coffee machines. They had completely forgotten Joseph Seed, just another poor guy down on his luck.

When they finally remembered I was there, they concluded by saying that the world was going to the dogs and that it would all end badly.

I couldn't disagree.

That day, I also understood that the Voice had spoken to me for the last time. There was nothing more to say. Everything was in my hands. I would never again doubt my destiny. I was ready. The beating I had received from those three thugs - who would soon be nothing more than dust - was my coronation, my anointment. The Father was revealed.

Those who want to live must follow the voice of the Father, the voice of Joseph Seed.

My voice.