Godmonger

Fernando sits in the office at his computer one morning, sipping at coffee and catching up on his daily news. As he raises a cup of liquid bliss to his mouth, the glass of his door suffers a great pounding.

“What in the hell?” Fernando says aloud. He swings out of the office and sees a young, well-groomed, stereotypically Teutonic male standing there with a satchel over his shoulder and books in his hands.

Ah, right on time.

Fernando heads to the door and pops it open, then stands so as to bar Our Little Aryan from entering, for the lad took a step forward as though Fernando's appearance meant he was welcome inside the Dominion. “Yes?”

“Good morning, sir. I'm with a fellowship trying to raise money for a scholarship at a Christian high school. We thought we would try something a little bit different this year.” He extends a book titled Cooking and Faith in Fernando's direction. “Tell me, sir, what...kind of foods do you enjoy?”

The young man's hesitation is brought about because he finally noticed Fernando fixing his gimlet gaze on his visitor's vapid blue eyes. The whole time he was speaking he looked at a point above and to the right of Fernando's head. Fernando checked afterwards if perhaps a guardian spider had taken up residence there, but the potential arachnid perhaps proved savvy enough to maybe avoid having to deal with the chance of experiencing a disgusting combination of proselytizing and panhandling. But, no, the boy was just unwilling or unable to look Fernando in the face when he spoke.

“I'm sorry, I recently gave up eating. I'm afraid your offerings do not interest me.”

This does not faze the cultist. “Well, sir, I have a wide selection of other types of literature--”

“I can't read.”

The minion who claimed to speak on God's behalf did not give up. “Well, if I could interest you in a pamphlet or prayer book--”

“Ce jahor tal, kachadimich!” Fernando looks down at his body as if in shock. “Ih ce cemeler celim theaad nal? Kez mochim ye! Celim mochad, chnaim mochad, cen cemad!” Fernando backs away, cringing and wringing his hands. It is not often that Fernando finds himself possessed and speaking in tongues.These things worry him.

The door clicks shut. Normally when people engage in hammy theatrics similar to those Fernando just did, onlookers have some sort of reaction. They may laugh at the absurdity of it all, they make shake their heads and wonder how the poor soul is outside his padded room, they may do something else entirely, but they do something. This guy just stood there, watching, until Fernando had rounded the bend leading to the office.

Abrahamic faiths argue that humans are the only creatures to possess souls and all the trappings to come along with that dubious honor, but the automatons slaving away not in the name of God, but in the name of some pseudoreligious hack who claims to speak for God, go a long way towards debunking this claim.