Chapter 4: Judgement Day

Preacher Bryan bore a striking resemblance to a garden gnome. He wore the traditional black robe of a priest, the one that had been retired before the religious revolution. He wore it proudly, not only in church but in also town while buying groceries or walking his dog, ChiChi. Preacher Bryan was a god-fearing man, who followed the bible diligently as if it were the recipe for the perfect life. It would have been honorable if he didn't have the tendency to make us all feel like crap for not living the same way. But still, he was the preacher, the voice of God in town and therefore I was forced to hide my distaste.

Standing in front of him now, I suddenly remembered of all the reasons why I loathed him so. He stared at me, scrutinizing the twitch of my hands and the shuffle of my feet. I felt very exposed even in my modest black dress. It was only after everyone had taken their seats, did he peel his wandering eyes away from my quivering body and addressed the community.

"Today we gather to witness a new day of becoming," He began. Though old and small in stature, his voice had a powerful grit and carried throughout the church.

"Miss Ophelia Georgette Mcintyre has reached the pinnacle age of judgement, under God's eye she stands." He stood with his arms held wide, like Jesus in the Last Supper.

"Under God," the community whispered in response.

They knelt in the pews, with their heads bent towards their clasped hands as if they were in prayer. My family knelt in the first row, their eyes trained carefully on my back. In fact, the whole congregation was staring at me. Kids I had known my whole life were glancing at me with a sneaking suspicion as if they knew something that was not yet clear to me. Smirks toyed at the edge of their lips, their eyes glittered with a rapt fascination. I noticed Nicole kneeling three rows behind my parents. She was wearing a pleated dress and a white, feathered hat that dipped low, concealing her stare from me. I noticed Barry Schniber was kneeling beside her and I did not think that was a coincidence at all.

Preacher Bryan nodded once, satisfied, and then turned his gaze upon me once more. He smiled. It was the warm smile of grandfather figure but rather a malicious smile of an impervious, old man. He reached out, his bony fingers wrapped around my elbow as he pushed me to the floor. A velvet pillow was waiting as I collapsed to my knees but did little to break my fall.

"Kneel before the face of God and look into his eyes," Preacher Bryan's finger curled around my chin. He pulled my head upwards until my eyes were level with the golden statue of jesus.

I stared at the sculpture but I did not see anything for my own eyes were blurry with tears. I didn't cry though, despite wanting to. I knew how it would look, a girl sobbing at the feet of jesus begging for him to spare her. It would look pathetic. Especially since, every other teenager, above the age of sixteen, in this room, had once sat through the same ritual and not cried. Eileen Foxx did shed a tear but that was only after she had received her results. Whether it was a tear of sadness or happiness, I suppose only God would know.

"Ophelia Mcintyre, answer these next three questions with your eyes trained on the statue of God," Preacher Bryan instructed. "Answer honestly or do not answer at all. There is to be no lying in His house."

It sounded like a choice, to answer or not, but it wasn't really. Not answering would be an answer in itself. The questions weren't hard, they were introductory in nature just in case one member of the community did not know the child on trial. But, again, I lived in Darwin and we were not granted the luxury of not knowing one another.

"What is your birthday?"

I didn't falter, "November 12th, 2064."

"Where do you live?" A tearing noise sounded above my head and I choked back a whimper. I didn't need to look away from the statue to know what he had in his hands.

In most rural towns, where these special congregations existed, parents chose to send their children's results to the church rather than home. The results came in a large manila envelope, with the American Seal stamped on the front. There were several documents included in the package but one in particular was to be seized upon. There, typed in bold font an answer would be listed: Negative or Positive. Kind of like an STD test.

"1182, Red Grove Lane. I live with my mother, Cheryl Mcintyre. My father, Nicholas Mcintyre and my two siblings- Christine and Adam." He shuffled the papers.

"And your blood type?" The shuffling stopped, he found the page.

The door to the back room cracked open revealing a pair of shiny black boots. A strangled noise escaped my throat and my heart began to rage violently against my ribs. A bead of sweat dewed at the tip of brow, it dangled there for a breathless second before sliding down the bridge of my nose and into the corner of my mouth. I knew those boots. I had seen them on the glossy screen of my tablet and television, their pictures flashed upon the news regularly whenever there was a special problem. The boots were apart of the G.S. uniform. G.S, of course standing for, God's Servants. They were an added branch of the military, filled with overly religious men specially trained in the ways of the second amendment. There were no women in the G.S. because there were no women in the military, at least not anymore.

They were typically stationed at a HOSCA center but a few unlucky soldiers were assigned as Deliverers. They were essentially, glorified mailmen. The only difference was that the packages they carried contained people. Oh, and they carried semi- automatic rifles.

"What was that, Ms. Mcintyre?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, "AB positive."

"What are you?" Preacher Bryan asked with a slight tremble to his voice.

"Ophelia," I answered quickly, not fully grasping his question.

"No, not who. What are you?" He knocked me to the floor with one strike of his hand.

The congregation exclaimed as I doubled over, gasping for air and desperately clinging to the carpet beneath my feet. Looking up at Preacher Bryan, through the film of tears, I noticed a small, black object in his hand. It was no larger than a ring box with two silver wires snaking out of the top. The nerves in my cheek were ablaze as if he tazed the left side of my face.

"Ophelia Georgette Mcintyre, your blood vials, #1347, #8476, and #5385 have been tested thoroughly by the United States government. After countless experiments, it was discovered that your DNA has tested-"

Tiny black dots began to color my vision. A serious wave of fatigue washed over me and the room swayed. I tried to listen to the end of my results but I could only hear the loud thud of my heart as it wildly beat against my chest. He drugged me. That was what that small box was for, it held a powerful toxin that could momentarily stun the body of an other. They didn't teach us anything about it in school, it was a top secret formula kept under government lock and key. I had only seen it used once before, when Asher received his results.

Two, strong hands grabbed my arms. I tried to fight back but my attempts were frugal. I didn't want to believe what was happening to me. I couldn't believe it.

I was not an other.

I was human.

Human.

**Now that, that has been taken care of. It's time to get into the real story. (You can't see it but I'm rubbing my hands maniacally and laughing like a super villain). Tell me what you think about Phe and this new world so far! And what do you think will happen now that Phe is forced to grapple with her new identity in the OSCF?

XOXO,

Ro.**