-Magdha-
01-02-2006, 03:31
RB City, Roach-Busters
While most faiths were tolerated in RB, and people of almost all religions mixed amicably and cordially, there were a select few that were not only strictly outlawed, but punishable by death. Among the banned faiths were Satanism, Christian Identity, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Scientology. Imperator J.L. I had a personal vendetta against them all. He found Satanists "blasphemous and loathsome," Christian Identity "spreaders of communism," Jehovah's Witnesses "a pain in the ass," and Scientologists "pagan, mindless drones, unworthy of life." Most people of these faiths had long ago been thrown into dungeons or publicly executed. Few remained, and of these few, few were brazen or stupid enough to proclaim their faith openly. A few Scientologists found the courage - or lacked the brains - to keep quiet, and found themselves being driven to a public square.
Amid throngs of ecstatic cheering, several black vans with tinted, bulletproof windows rolled along the street, as policemen mounted on horseback struggled to hold back the masses of thousands of supporters, who were trying to go onto the road, open the back doors of the vans, and haul out their prisoners. RB flags were prominently displayed, as the people chanted with an ardently patriotic fervor: "Long live Papa! Death to Scientology! Long live Papa! Death to Scientology!" Many placed their hands on their hearts and sang the national anthem. So moved were they by the deeply revered patriotic hymn that there was scarcely a dry eye in the place. Jeers, taunts, and cackles greeted the vans as they drove past; not jeers, taunts, or cackles directed toward the drivers, but toward the prisoners.
The excitement displayed previously seemed like lukewarm apathy in contrast to the nearly fanatical, rabid excitement that now gripped the crowd. For, standing tall in the backseat of a car, waving to the assembled masses, garbed in his military attire, was the Imperator they so dearly loved. Guns fired in the air, flags waved, pro-government slogans were shouted, lovestruck young women fainted, and people threw roses and confetti into the street. Not even Elvis Presley could elicit an audience reaction such as this, even if surrounded by awe-struck, gawking young girls.
"Hello, everyone, hello," the Imperator said, with a warm, fatherly demeanor and a gentle, pleasant smile.
People waved portraits of the Imperator and/or flags, as they shouted, "Long live the Papa J.L.! Long live Papa J.L.! Long live Papa J.L.!" over and over again, as if in a trance. Actually, they were entranced, by the Imperator's majestic, dynamic presence and their undying love of him.
Finally, the black vans drifted to a stop in the center of the town square, in front of a massive wooden stage that was 10 feet tall, rectangular, and 340 x 1,200 feet. The backs of the vans were opened up, and soldiers and policemen hauled the prisoners out, dragging them like animal carcasses. The crowd booed, hissed, cursed, and ranted at the prisoners. Several people mooned them, flipped them off, or even threw stones at them, until the Imperator raised his hand and calmly motioned for them to stop. They complied at once.
There were about seventy Scientologists, transported by four overcrowded vans whose interiors reeked of tension-induced sweat, body odor, and the putrid stench of leftism. The prisoners, weak, deathly thin, malnourished, almost skeletal, were in shackles. They were viciously dragged onto the top of the stage.
The Imperator exited the car, climbed atop the stage, and asked the adoring crowd, "What shall be the fate of these swine?"
The reply, uttered by every single one of the hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of assembled people, was unanimous: "Death!"
Smiling, the Imperator gave a slight nod of his head, drew his battle sword, and, as if possessed, embarked on a berserk, bloodthirsty, crazed killing spree, slicing and dicing the prisoners, hacking limbs, spewing blood, spilling guts, and drenching the stage in gore. The audience laughed uproariously, as if watching the funniest movie ever made. The Scientologists whimpered in agony as they watched their brethren being dismantled by the Imperator, before being lobbed to pieces themselves. Heads were lobbed off. Bodies were severed. Blood drizzled and sprayed everywhere. Bloody limbs piled up. Organs splattered. And the crowd went wild.
Finally, every single one of the prisoners was in several dozen mangled pieces. Many of the people in the crowd had laughed so hard they urinated in their pants. The odor of laughter-induced urine filled the air, but the people were so overjoyed they barely noticed it.
As Shooban and Turta slaves cleaned up the mess (all the while being beaten and whipped by guards), the Imperator bade the crowd farewell with a friendly wave, stepped back into the car, and was driven away, followed by the four black vans.
As they drove away, they were followed by cries of: "We love you, Papa!"
While most faiths were tolerated in RB, and people of almost all religions mixed amicably and cordially, there were a select few that were not only strictly outlawed, but punishable by death. Among the banned faiths were Satanism, Christian Identity, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Scientology. Imperator J.L. I had a personal vendetta against them all. He found Satanists "blasphemous and loathsome," Christian Identity "spreaders of communism," Jehovah's Witnesses "a pain in the ass," and Scientologists "pagan, mindless drones, unworthy of life." Most people of these faiths had long ago been thrown into dungeons or publicly executed. Few remained, and of these few, few were brazen or stupid enough to proclaim their faith openly. A few Scientologists found the courage - or lacked the brains - to keep quiet, and found themselves being driven to a public square.
Amid throngs of ecstatic cheering, several black vans with tinted, bulletproof windows rolled along the street, as policemen mounted on horseback struggled to hold back the masses of thousands of supporters, who were trying to go onto the road, open the back doors of the vans, and haul out their prisoners. RB flags were prominently displayed, as the people chanted with an ardently patriotic fervor: "Long live Papa! Death to Scientology! Long live Papa! Death to Scientology!" Many placed their hands on their hearts and sang the national anthem. So moved were they by the deeply revered patriotic hymn that there was scarcely a dry eye in the place. Jeers, taunts, and cackles greeted the vans as they drove past; not jeers, taunts, or cackles directed toward the drivers, but toward the prisoners.
The excitement displayed previously seemed like lukewarm apathy in contrast to the nearly fanatical, rabid excitement that now gripped the crowd. For, standing tall in the backseat of a car, waving to the assembled masses, garbed in his military attire, was the Imperator they so dearly loved. Guns fired in the air, flags waved, pro-government slogans were shouted, lovestruck young women fainted, and people threw roses and confetti into the street. Not even Elvis Presley could elicit an audience reaction such as this, even if surrounded by awe-struck, gawking young girls.
"Hello, everyone, hello," the Imperator said, with a warm, fatherly demeanor and a gentle, pleasant smile.
People waved portraits of the Imperator and/or flags, as they shouted, "Long live the Papa J.L.! Long live Papa J.L.! Long live Papa J.L.!" over and over again, as if in a trance. Actually, they were entranced, by the Imperator's majestic, dynamic presence and their undying love of him.
Finally, the black vans drifted to a stop in the center of the town square, in front of a massive wooden stage that was 10 feet tall, rectangular, and 340 x 1,200 feet. The backs of the vans were opened up, and soldiers and policemen hauled the prisoners out, dragging them like animal carcasses. The crowd booed, hissed, cursed, and ranted at the prisoners. Several people mooned them, flipped them off, or even threw stones at them, until the Imperator raised his hand and calmly motioned for them to stop. They complied at once.
There were about seventy Scientologists, transported by four overcrowded vans whose interiors reeked of tension-induced sweat, body odor, and the putrid stench of leftism. The prisoners, weak, deathly thin, malnourished, almost skeletal, were in shackles. They were viciously dragged onto the top of the stage.
The Imperator exited the car, climbed atop the stage, and asked the adoring crowd, "What shall be the fate of these swine?"
The reply, uttered by every single one of the hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of assembled people, was unanimous: "Death!"
Smiling, the Imperator gave a slight nod of his head, drew his battle sword, and, as if possessed, embarked on a berserk, bloodthirsty, crazed killing spree, slicing and dicing the prisoners, hacking limbs, spewing blood, spilling guts, and drenching the stage in gore. The audience laughed uproariously, as if watching the funniest movie ever made. The Scientologists whimpered in agony as they watched their brethren being dismantled by the Imperator, before being lobbed to pieces themselves. Heads were lobbed off. Bodies were severed. Blood drizzled and sprayed everywhere. Bloody limbs piled up. Organs splattered. And the crowd went wild.
Finally, every single one of the prisoners was in several dozen mangled pieces. Many of the people in the crowd had laughed so hard they urinated in their pants. The odor of laughter-induced urine filled the air, but the people were so overjoyed they barely noticed it.
As Shooban and Turta slaves cleaned up the mess (all the while being beaten and whipped by guards), the Imperator bade the crowd farewell with a friendly wave, stepped back into the car, and was driven away, followed by the four black vans.
As they drove away, they were followed by cries of: "We love you, Papa!"