Remembering the Knights in Space Opera

I make no bones about where Galactic Christendom comes from. A lot of it is #StarWarsNotStarWars. A lot of it is classic anime from the Giant Robot and Space Opera franchises. But there's one part that I've not talked about yet: the Knightly Romance (and its modern offshoots).

"Paladin" is meant in its older sense, as used in the Matter of France, where the Paladins of Charlemange were His Majesty's close companions and go-to battle-brothers. This is why Ramsey's invocation of the phrase works; it's both intimidation and signalling that the galaxy's powers take the matter seriously, so they sent a Top Man to handle a situation that's about to explode.

Reading Arthurian literature, especially the early stuff, where it's more about Arthur and the boys being hardasses in war and at tournament, as well as the stories of Roland and the Romances spun from them (and related tales, like those of Robin Hood) all got poured into the pot to blend into this Space Opera stew.

It helps that's there's a lot of action, romance, and flashing sword combat (which nicely scales up to giant robot combat). While "Garmil's Gate" doesn't do the dames much (they'll show up soon), I've got a big ol' "Knight fights Monster for love of Princess" story in the works (tentatively, "The Taking of Countess Gabriella Robin"), and I would be a big fat liar if I didn't admit that these two films weren't big inspirations.

Oh, yeah, and some of this:

Why? Because Toshiro Mifune was one of the manilest men to ever grace the silver screen, and Kurosawa knew it. Being like one of Mifune's heroes is not at all an insult, so long as you execute well. That reminds me, John Woo's films also are a significant influence. You wouldn't think Hard Boiled would play into this, until you remember what "Heroic Bloodshed" means and that this film is one of the definitions of the term- itself a modernization of Chinese knightly tales, soured to taste.

Which means that Sir Ramsey is the sort of been-there-done that character who has no issues being who or what he is. He knows what he does is good, that whom he kills is bad, and princess worth a damn appreciate it when you risk life and limb to save them from the monsters- even if they don't marry you and live happily ever after with you.

And yes, there will be that sort of happy ending for Ramsey. But he's got to earn it, and making him do that will be quite the tale.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-12

New Year's Day came. I wrote in a journal how the loss of contact with the wider world had hit me hard, and despite expecting that to happen this still hammered me something fierce. Coping with it, while keeping track of the days, was difficult. Fortunately, all of my preparations paid off and I knew that--so long as I could keep it together between my ears--I would make it to Spring without a problem. Therefore I focused my efforts on keeping myself sane and stable, which meant keeping up a routine while awaiting expected external events.

Like my angel friend stopping by one more time.

"Job's done, monkey." he said, "How does it feel to successfully prophesize the end of the world?"

"I'm not sure. It's been less than a month. All I hear on the radio now, when I hear anything at all, is a horror show. Zombies, of all things, along with people going feral and collapsing into survivor groups. This new world makes real things previously considered fantasy, and I don't know what to make of it."

He chuckled. "Honest, to the last."

"A bit morbid, aren't we? You're now far more able than I am to see what's going on. The Internet is down, likely for good. Radio is spotty at best, and most able to broadcast aren't talking good news. For those of us that made it through, we're now confronting the fact that the world we knew is gone. Even if we rebuild what we can, it's not going to be the same. Even if we recover what we lose, it's not going to be the same. That time is done, gone, and can never return. That's a heavy thing to face, and it stands to destroy many of those who survived this cataclysm."

"Do you have a plan?"

"A grand strategy to rebuild civilization into something recognizable to those that remember what was before? No. A simple strategy to build up a foundation for an enduring community, from which others can build towards a new civilization in due time? Yeah. Not a town, not even a village or a hamlet, is what I have in mind. Much smaller, within my own capabilities, is to build this place up into a sustainable farmstead. That's my plan."

"Humble at heart. Even in the face of desolation. Yet faithful."

"So, why the visit?"

"He's got a message for you."

"Hit me."

He laid a hand upon my forehead. "He blesses you, removing you from the Book of Death and ensuring you to His bosom forevermore, and shielding you from the instruments of His wrath."

I didn't know it then, but this meant the zombies. I got to be immune to being turned, and invisible to them; this also meant that I was one of the sources for the Purified Seed of Mankind.

"Oh, and He's got a new task for you, since He figured that you'd be preparing for what to do next."

"Go forth and multiply?"

He laughed. "Exactly. Don't worry about how; He's got that sorted."

And that was that. Winter passed, and in the Spring a young lady--who turned out to have been a listener--found me. My life would change again, but that's for another story.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-11

Time began to run out. I used the remaining time to square away my own situation; there was no running now, so when it hit I had to be certain that I had everything I required to handle myself in all things for an indefinite period of time, probably several years, before any viable recovery got to me. Redundant parts. Years upon years of food and medicine. More clothes. Generators, purifiers, a still, storage for fuel of varying sorts, and everything I'd need to make my own food and clothing- including the curing of leather. More guns and ammo. More components for reloading ammo. You name it, I stocked it.

I documented all of this for my audience. I implored my audience to follow my example, especially the whole "get out of the cities" thing, and I'd back that up with regular analysis of the fast-deteriorating global political and economic system. The West began targeting the East with economic sanctions and proxy wars, who in turn began economic organizing amongst themselves to cut out the U.S. Dollar. It became clear that the targets of my prophecy's flashpoint would be the primary cities in the East and South, and I soon received--and verified--intelligence from my audience that the West had an intention to break this resistance to their hegemony by means of proxy nuclear terrorism.

Prophets got to profess, so I put together the most likely scenario given the information that I had to work with and put it out online. I talked about this near to exclusivity, both on my own sites and in interviews. I laid out that the plan was for the West, using proxies, to detonate the nuclear weapons--stolen from the Russians to enhance deniability--in these ten most populated cities. The West would have the resources on hand to go in, no questions asked, to rescue and clean up the mess because these detonations would cripple the East and the South, decapitating the threat by exterminating the leadership class to a man. Nuclear war, in theory, would be prevented due to inquiries revealing the Russian origin of the weapons used and pressure to focus on global unity against terrorism would suppress any remaining dissent against Western domination of the world.

Billions would die, and billions more would die later, all so that one group of high-functioning psychopaths could stop a rival group of the same from ruining their scam and stopping their gangster (in favor of another gang's version). I knew that I could not stop it, so I implored everyone near the targeted cities to flee far from those doomed metroplexes right now and get squared away in their bug-out locations. Then I said that all of us should do that, since I already had, and I heard plenty of people contact me to say that they followed my advice.

I kept myself sane by doing the chores around the homestead, and then hunting deer and fowl to supplement my food stocks--which, thankfully, were quite full. I quickly taught myself how to process the old way what I took, and carefully conserved the casings and shells so I could reload them. I picked up a ham radio and learned how to use it, and encouraged my listeners to do the same if they could, because the odds of the Internet being able to take the incoming nuclear strikes were slim to none. Backup everything locally, shield what you can, get print versions of references you want around- all of that.

The seasons turned, Winter arrived, and the lake froze over. I soon had an ice fishing shack in place. It was there, as the sun sank below the trees, that I felt a terrible feeling run through me. I hurried back inside, locked everything down, and prepared to switch over to backup power; a quick check of my computer confirmed that more and more of the Internet came down as each hour passed. The radio waves had nothing but static outside of government chatter, and they talked only about confirmed nuclear detonations and a great wall of blue-white flame going ground-to-sky seeming to incinerate anything caught outside.

When that wave hit here, I lost all contact with the outside world. All of it. I saw the flames through the windows burn for three days straight, yet not incinerating the woods outside, or even touching my shack. The end had come. My mission was over, but it wasn't concluded just yet.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-10

I'd kept in touch with the audience as I recovered. I actively sought reliable, credible media outlets and individuals. I did more interviews as a result of this effort, and my blogging began to show both photos I took as proof for claims about myself as well as contributed (and verified) user photos sent to me and used with permission. The assassins faded from the news as newer and more exciting media creations appeared to take up time and attention, but I did not let it go- not only did I insist on pursuit about that story, I organized my audience to put this into a wider and more applicable context. The creation we made took on a life of its own; with the aid of my fellows, I again turned the media power against itself.

To my audience, I shifted to explaining the importance of being prepared for a disaster. I began by using the necessity of preparing for severe weather events, such as tornadoes or blizzards, and expanding up to hurricanes and typhoons. I linked to the many reputable sources for individual disaster preparation out there, and from there I built up to a full program of preparation coupled with argumentation for engagement with those who live near you and voluntary organization amongst one's community. It is in this transition that I found a need for something new to include, and that something was a need to locate one's identity outside oneself; this mean a philosophical and aesthetic shift, and--again, contrary to all of my predecessors--I went with the Trivium Method and the critical examination of religion and mythology.

You'd think that a prophet would be disapproved for doing this. Yet I found out, in a manner I freely admit is irrational and not subject to the rational inquiry and independent verification of the scientific method, that this was not so. You see, at this time I was out in the middle of nowhere. I was under a hill, over 15 miles from any major highway, over five miles from a county road, and out of sight of the dirt road that led to my hidden home. Furthermore, I masked my IP address to appear as if I were still in the Twin Cities, shifting it slightly every season to keep up the appearance of your usual urban activist with a death mark. I used proxy accounts to handle what I ordered online, and when I was out and about I used alternate identities. While not impossible to track me down, I made it so bothersome that only the very dedicated would bother to put in the work.

So, imagine my surprise when I found first a feral housecat and then a homeless dog coming to my door. I knew signs when I saw them, and this I took as being His response to my actions, in the form of "It's dangerous to be alone. Take these." The cat turned out to be quite the mouser, and the dog turned out to be a great hunting and guard dog once I figured out how to train it. This sounds like idle chatter, but having a pair of working animals around meant that I had need of them- and I had need of them because the very thing I warned about started to manifest.

Stupid political brinksmanship began in Southwest Asia and in the Black Sea area near Crimea. Then a sad series of political theater shows in the Far East between Japan, Taiwan, the People's Republic of China, South Korea, North Korea, and even Russia started a series of tit-for-tat moves that destablized that region. Israel got their genocide on again, hoping that they could complete wiping out the Palestinians while everyone else looked away, and that was enough for me to shift my focus again to urging my audience to move now while the moving was easy.

As the weather turned towards Winter, I got the premonition that the end would soon come. The only question remaining was whether I would go first or not.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-09

The game changed for the worse when I turned on the evening news to find that my lawyer had been gunned down in his office. There was nothing at all plausible about the scenario; his private security cameras captured the sudden assault on his office building by masked hitmen wielding fully-automatic rifles, killing the security detail on the way and then himself as they burst into his office. Only his secretary, who wasn't there at the time, remained; she found them upon returning with dinner. The office had been ransacked, and the hard drives taken from his computers, so they had a secondary objective of data retrieval.

In the days to follow, I confirmed that the targeted data involved all of my holdings kept in his care. That meant that I had to bug out; I would clearly be hit again. I let the word out to my audience across all of my platforms, and updated copies of my archives flooded the Internet as well as a few dead drops I'd cultivated. Expendables got moved into their bugout positions, and transferables got moved into position. My preparations in this event worked more or less as expected; the evening after everything was in place, I saw them coming.

This time it was a series of vans, in total disgorging 40 men. This was no team, or even a squad, but a full platoon of hired professional killers and I was still no match for such a threat. Fortunately, the building I inhabited I now had kitted out to defend in place. I cut all direct ties to the ground, and sent out a call for aid, with a single push of a pre-programmed panic button application. It would slow them down long enough to let me escape.

The false silhouettes in the lower floors drew out their sharpshooters, cut elevators and stairways forced them to hustle the hard way to get to the top floor, and the right kind of 911 robocall got the police to send out the SWAT team to an Active Shooter conducting a Home Invasion as fast as they could manage. As they began hitting my tripwires, slowing them further, the police arrived and the expected firefight broke out between the assassins and the police.

I got to the top floor, got my chute on, and made the jump as I previously planned. One of them spotted me and fired, and I got hit; I took a shot that--fortunately--went through and through. It entered from behind, passed just under my lungs, and out the side without damaging anything vital. It still hurt and it burned, but I'd be okay. I got to the stashed car, used the trauma kit in the car to stabilize myself, and slipped away in the chaos. I took none of the routes that I wrote down or otherwise mentioned to anyone; I used one I kept entirely in my head. If I was to be followed I would know right away; similarly, I lied about the bugout place's actual location, so I would know if somehow I'd been mind-fucked.

I switched cars thrice on the way. I left in a used runabout city car, swapped to a minivan to do most of the travelling, and then swapped to a pickup with four-wheel drive and no connectivity for the last leg. I drove into a camoflaged garage, closed up, and unloaded there before I went into my bugout chamber, cleared it, and secured it. I expected only one visitor, and he hadn't appeared yet.

Now locked down and secured in my holdout location, I checked on the world outside. The assassins lost men fighting the police, leading to them being tied to an unbelievable consortium of known fringe groups: white supremacists, Christian terrorists, outlaw bikers, Muslim terrorists, anti-government terrorists, drug cartel hitmen, and former Mobsters. Oh, and the government covert agents amongst them. The media flipped their collective and proverbial tables over this, when they weren't wondering how a blogger managed to set up such a defensive situation. As for those following my media presence, as soon as I put forth proof that I was indeed safe and secure in an undisclosed location, I then put forth a full and detailed accounting for my end of things; this got picked up by the media, which--mercifully--gave them the excuse needed to stop giving any attention to me and focus instead on the killers.

My wound began healing, but self-treatment remained slow, and it was during one of these management moments that my expected visitor showed up.

"Holed up, literally, aren't we?"

"Took you long enough, Mike." I said as I changed bandages.

"You didn't make it easy."

"The current term is 'operational security', and you didn't need to know. He did explain that concept to you, right?"

Michael snickered. "Clever, monkey."

I finished cleaning the wound. "You weren't around to play superhero. I figured I had to see to myself."

"So, you're far from cities and other people now. What's the plan?"

"Exclusively online for the rest of the mission." I said, "I can't explain how or why, but I've got the feeling that what's coming is going to hit really soon, so it's time to shift the focus from getting the word out to getting the audience to follow my example. As for what's after that, I'm operating on the assumption that I will be part of the remnant working to rebuild anew from the ashes of the scourged world before."

"Assuming that you don't die." Michael said.

"I won't know the day or the hour." I said, putting on a clean shirt, "I can't go on worrying about what's outside of my control. All I can do, barring external intervention, is go about my life pursing my goals as best I can."

"Well, I have a meeting with Him shortly. I'll see what I can do. You're a funny monkey. I'd like to keep you around a while longer."

"Gee, thanks, I guess." I said, and he was gone.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-08

Unlike most prophets, whose response to assassination attempts is to hold on to things that don't matter in a foolish display of blind obedience to faith, I heeded that advice to relocate when I left the hospital.

Again, with my lawyer's help, I quickly liquidated my current residence in favor of one off the grid. I went underground, figuratively, but not literally. Literally, I went into the clouds; I took a top-floor loft in what was a warehouse, and I put in the time required to make it livable. As I had neither a woman nor children, the space was more than I required and therefore put me in a situation where I could consolidate my operations into a single space- and keep both exposure and expenses down to a minimum.

My replacement car was even more of a forgettable, bland, boring runabout car than what I lost in the ambush. My documentation of the event, as much as both the legal system and prudence allowed, deflected all but the most depraved and incompetent rhetorical attacks upon me in its wake. The new place had all of the equipment I needed to run my outreach operations, including a home gym to stay fit and more.

Naturally, Michael stopped by for a visit.

"Not bad." he said, coming in the window one night, "You're far smarter than His usual choices. Most get stubborn in a stupid way and refuse to adapt to changes in the situation."

"While the men that ambushed me are either gone or caught up in other affairs, the party that hired them is still out there and they don't back down. Relocating to a position where I could control any intrusion seemed like a good idea."

"You're just below the roof." Michael said, "Can you fly?"

I rolled back a parachute rig. "Not exactly, but close enough. I have stashed nearby a getaway vehicle, and I've got a hideout that is off the books and known to no one but me. I get out, get away, and hunker down there. All of the vital things that I required are impossible for the enemy to wipe from existence without destroying the whole of global civilization, so long as I have Internet access."

Michael smiled.

"I've turned the enemy leader's alleged domain against him." I said.

"So, you've forced the issue."

"Michael, I know that the message won't reach everyone in time. Most won't hear it, and of those that do only a handful--as it were--would act as intended. However, those that are hearing it come from all over the world. That means faithful remnants will arise all over the world, ready and able to take on the task of rebuilding and fulfilling the promise in this message. To make this happen, I had to cut the link between a physical object and the conveyance of information."

Michael nodded. "You're also the most realistic of His chosen. Do you expect to survive?"

"Expect? No. That doesn't mean that I want to die. All it means is that I will keep it at bay until my mission is fulfilled."

Michael applauded. "That's a good monkey."

The Reluctant Doomsayer-07

Sooner or later, the fundamental patterns that govern existence always manifest and fulfill their purpose. The trials of a prophet are no different.

I had left my lawyer's office after a consultation about taking legal action one night. On my way home, a UPS truck swerved out in front of me and had I not braked and turned into it I would have taken a hit on my side of my car- a lethal collision. Instead, I jumped the curb and collided with a light pole, which then fell on my car. The truck collided with a traffic light. So far, just a freakish--but ordinary--traffic incident, until armed men burst forth from the back of the truck and fired upon my car as I worked myself out. I got hit, but at the time I didn't notice due to the adrenaline pumping throughout my body to keep me awake and alert, so I popped the door open and fell out.

I had no firearms of my own, as I did not expect anyone to attempt to do me wrong like this. However, I did not make the mistake of thinking that my attackers' ceasing to fire upon me meant that it was safe to stand up. I peaked around the corner, and I saw them advancing upon me. The way that they reloaded their rifles--effortlessly dropping the empty magazine out, replacing it with a full one, and then charging the rifle--showed me that my opponents had trained, and trained for some time, with their rifles. The way that they moved as a unit showed me that they trained together for at least as long. This, I realized, was not an effort by some opportunistic amateurs to score an underground bounty. I was up against professionals.

I am no professional, so I did what any prophet in this situation did: I prayed. I didn't ask for much; just a sign as to where to go, and a chance to do it. Moments later, I heard sirens in the distance and they seemed to get closer. I glanced back, saw that they hesitated, and that's when I ran for it. Immediately they turned and fired upon me again. I dove for cover behind a bus bench, which got shot up right quick and sent splinters flying everywhere. I already had some nicks on my right shoulder, arm, and side; now I took a grazing wound on my ankle. I managed to not fall wrong, but still I wasn't fairing well.

I scrambled to my feet and ran some more, and down the street I fled. They pursued, and they fired upon me, and they scored a good hit just off-center of where my spine and waist meet. I didn't know it then, but it was a through-and-through hit, which is why I stayed alive and without lasting or permanent injury. However, if not for a few people at home getting out their hunting rifles and returning fire from their front windows, I surely would have died. A couple of high school students, under covering fire from their father and uncle, grabbed me from the street and got me into their house. They kept me in one piece until, hours later and after the police secured the area, an ambulance arrived to take me to the hospital.

The next day, my lawyer arrived with my laptop. While he hooked me up and got me online, he explained that the police reviewed the security camera footage from the traffic cameras and others in that neighborhood. They concluded that I took the best course of action, that it was a deliberate attempt at murder, and that I should consider relocating once I'm discharged. He also told me that a pair of detectives would be by to interview me, and that he would be present. While I waited, I took the opportunity put up as much documentation of the event as was prudent at that time and let my audience know that--for the moment--I was okay, and to pray for me.

I had no idea then who would go so far as to send professional killers--none of whom were apprehended, or killed--after me, but I had a very good idea as to why: the message.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-06

The media requests from the alternative media accelerated, and I engaged them carefully and with an eye towards incorporating them into my overall strategy. I took the time to look into each outlet that contacted me, seeing which ones would be hostile or less than honest and which were not. In the meantime, I decided to look into the state's definitions of libel and slander along with the current state of precedent regarding these statutes; I felt that, given my experience at the convention, I should anticipate that I would be targeted by hit-pieces soon enough.

I was not wrong. The outlets I turned down did about-faces and published those hit-pieces on me; the outlets I accepted, by and large, let me give full and proper explanations of my message as well as my methodology for my work. By the time that all of the hostile outlets did their publishing and airing of their attacks, I took copies and recordings to a lawyer's office to discuss my options. The legal costs, as I expected, were high enough to make legal recourse something I would reserve as a last-option move; I would be better served naming, shaming, and exposing my detractors in public. Lawyer-client privilege would protect my identity for the time being, should anyone seek to dig into my decision to seek legal counsel.

This development was not unexpected. However, the real aim is to derail my messaging by consuming my time and attention defending myself. It did not matter if the attacks were easily dispensed with; what matters is that I had to dispense with them or face the consequence of a defamed reputation. Now, past prophets would just grin and bear this sort of pain because they had no recourse due to living in a world where concepts such as "Rule of Law" didn't exist; tribal peoples, clan-based nations, and so on had a very different perception of acceptable social behavior. I live in a very different environment, and I am not so foolish as to believe that the social rules of Biblical Israel's era exist here and now. My response to those attacking my ministry cannot be as those of old were.

So, with a little help, I automated the defense with a simple script. I would load up a template, insert the source links, add the appropriate annotations that I already entered into the template, and post it to the 'blog. The result was that time spent dealing with their hit-pieces drops from days or hours to the span of a coffee break; I kept this clean, clear, public, and open for all to see- in other words, entirely above-board. Sure, I got flak from some of my emerging and growing audience for adopting this stance, but I told them that this would serve me well when--inevitably--one of them would cross the line of legal liability.

That incident happened when a handful of loud-mouth shock-jocks, friends and peers, made a coordinated smear campaign against me that included (for the first time) incitement to riot, to harass, to defraud, and otherwise take destruction and unlawful action against me. The media outlets I previously connected with, to their credit, intervened on my side and fact-checked this group on the air and online. That lead to escalation, as those broadcast and Internet enemies turned their considerable influence against my allies; their listeners, cult-like in devotion, began running harassment campaigns immediately against them also. The calls, the hacks, the distributed Denial of Service attacks, the use of local and Federal law enforcement against them (starting with false calls accusing key personnel of domestic violence), and especially the gang-stalking all quickly got out of hand.

Then one of the more prominent, and skeptical, people fact-checking claims against me suddenly died in a car accident. His car, as caught on camera, went out of control and hit a street light head-on at over 100 Miles Per Hour- killing the man on impact. In the aftermath of his death, blame for it fell hard and heavy on me by my opposition; being that we're in Crazytown, the term "False Flag" is commonplace and got thrown at me- they claimed that, somehow, I hack into his car's computer and cause it to crash. I wasn't too worried, but then I heard Gabriel whisper at me: "Call your lawyer."

It was a good thing that I heeded that whisper. While at my lawyer's office, he took a phone call from the F.B.I. inquiring about me; they claimed to want to question me. We quickly settled on meeting them right away, since I was already there, at his office; the questioning proved to be hostile, as if they believed the hacking claim, but between my lawyer's presence and the careful way I documented everything to date I walked out a free man and the agents sent turned their attention to my detractors. Of course, I posted the experience to my blog. I also immediately backed everything up and made multiple copies, one set being put into that same lawyer's hands.

One thing was certain, and that thing was--once this criminal investigation concluded--the time for a civil action had come.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-05

I negotiated with the convention committee as to the appearance. I explained to them my concerns, and they did demonstrate that they understood, so they agreed to a tele-presence appearance over Skype- especially after I explained the cost-savings that they would have by going with my plan.

The resulting appearance, with no face camera and a subtly-modulated voice to disguise my identity, worked well. I had my end ready; documents and source materials in the cloud, ready for download and place where the traffic could handle it, as well as a slideshow presentation. The convention and I agreed to billing this as a live podcast, which brought out a sizeable audience, and convention materials did get the URLs for my supplementary materials out on time. Everything got set up for a good showing.

Everything went fine until I finished the presentation and opened for questions. I prepared for a hostile questioning period, but this was a degree of hostility that I had no anticipated. I faced a combination of rigidly dogmatic Christians, and rigidly dogmatic atheists, neither of which were open to rational argumentation. I had to assume a position of amused mastery and take a paternal tone with them to keep my cool. Fortunately, my studies and memory proved to be time well spent; by the time that the appearance concluded, I exposed my critics as being ignorant and irrational in their opposition to my message.

I took that as a sign of things to come. While my metrics and analytics showed increased sales, traffic, and revenue from same I'd been made painfully aware that the traditional tribulations of a prophet remained. I kept that in mind when I received alerts as to posts made on social media and in the Blogosphere regarding my appearance. Now more offers appeared in my inboxes, email and others such as Skype, and I realized that I'd now crossed a threshold past which my relative anonymity no longer existed- now I had to be very vigilante as to my privacy.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-04

Michael stopped by to visit. He still looked like Walken to me.

"You've got quite a thing going here." he said, stopping by as I reviewed analytics, "Quite ingenious of you."

"Does He approve?"

"For now." he said, "But I'm not so sure. All this is confusing."

"The prophets of old lived in a very different world, Michael. Information was heavily restricted, and the methods for training the mind to think properly were the province of the mystery schools. Most people were illiterate, uneducated, and narrowly skilled- if skilled at all. Knowledge, therefore, was restricted to what was in living memory for an individual and their family- unless he was part of the priest class or a mystery school initiate. Because of this state of affairs, having someone come along claiming to be a prophet speaking the Word of God was difficult, but hardly improbable, to accept- especially if he spoke the right way at the right time to the right audience."

Michael nodded.

"This remained consistent for millenia. Only in the last century or so has it really changed. Now? Forget about it; the paradigm changed, with it comes the conversation that a would-be prophet must have to be taken seriously, to be heeded and not just heard. I see, and so do you I expect, a lot of would-be sorts out there that might be heard but rarely--if ever--are heeded. That's because they don't know the rules, and because they don't know the rules they can't use them to their advantage."

"So, you've spent the time since I last talked to you doing this?"

"Correct."

"And your results are?"

"I've received my first invitation to a convention as a guest of honor, where I will be able to spread the word to a receptive audience with impunity."

"What?"

"That is the point, correct? To spread the word, that's the point. Well, then I have to take myself out of the equation as much as I can, so that the attention goes to the message and not to the messenger. This is the historical problem with prophecy; the flaw is that attention is too much paid to the man and not to the word. I've avoided, as much as possible, putting a face to the message; I use psuedonyms, obvious ones, to negate the tendency to attach importance to the messenger to the message. Even with this appearance offer, I'm considering turning it down because it means attaching a name and a face at last- and that means a host of issues that I'd rather avoid."

"Interesting. I think I see why The Man wanted you for this job."

The Reluctant Doomsayer-03

"You're no fool, Michael." I said, "You know what the rules for effective communications are. If I am to be heeded, let alone heard, I need solid proof. Faith alone is not enough."

"You leave that to The Man." he said, and off he went.

So, off I went to the usual place to start this sort of thing these days: The Internet. I sorted through all sorts of conspiracy nonsense, and even the more sensible stuff lacked sources or other evidence that I could verify independently. Other than some of the well-established material, which centered itself in more mundane government or corporate corruption and ownership complimented by long-running fraternal ties (or their sorority counterparts) and inter-locking networks of corporate board memberships, I had a hell of a time finding anything that would make me credible. As this is not the days where some dude could stand in a public square, preach to whomever would listen, and slowly attract a following that will actually translate into socio-economic power--just watching cranks on YouTube make that plain--I had to come up with a better plan.

So, I did the logical thing: I created an online presence. I made a new Google account, so I could make the most of free stuff that Google offers. Facebook, Twitter, Podomatic, Instagram, Scribd, and so followed hot on those heels. I downloaded some free podcasting software, put up a site that could act as a landing platform for searches, and then started writing blog posts as well putting up stuff for reading and put together an audio-only podcast show. With some Powerpoint work, I turned the audio-only shows into YouTube vidoes. I made a personal subreddit at Reddit and used that as another avenue to get the word out, making the most of each media outlet's features to do what a lot of my rivals--especially the cranks--did not: post sources, citations, and other such evidence that others could follow up on their own.

Did I speculate? Yes, I did, and I said so clean and clear- often in BOLD ITALICS. I banned trolls without mercy, and once I got on the radar of the counter-intelligence brigades online I screen-shot and posted exposes. I attracted an initial crowd of rubber-neckers, trolls, cranks, and the other usual audience segments found out in Crazytown. I did my best to cull the toxic elements, and cultivate the sensible ones that would follow-up and act on what I provided. As one would expect, this became a full time job. Fortunately, due to the way that the various outlets worked, I could--and, soon, did--satisfy the standards of various sites' partnership requirements. That gave me one ad-supported revenue stream after the next, in addition to the donations I took in, which allows me to do this without outside interference in the form of a day job.

"Trust in The Lord, and he will provide." my late uncle, a retired minister, would say. Well, so far it's working. Time to start putting things together, and make use of outlets like Amazon and Lulu to publish what I put together. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be David Icke?

The Reluctant Doomsayer-02

(Some time later...)

"Fine, fine, you want me to play at being a prophet. Blah, blah, blah, whatever. What's the message then?"

"Well," Michael said, "that's a very good question. Not that it will help, but I will tell you what is soon to happen. You see, He's about to let the really stupid monkeys down here finish their plans for total domination. There are two groups of monkeys at work here. One of them goes really far back, and they worship the losing side because they think that they can somehow avoid His trap and win. The other side is a front group for the first that's gotten out of hand. The first group are going to conduct a big ritual sacrifice, and the second group will provide--unwittingly--that sacrifice under the guise of scaring the world into letting them take total control."

"Nukes." I said, "They're going to nuke the planet."

"Correct." Michael smiled. "You're a smart one. Hold on, it gets better. The second group will create false terrorist attacks on the ten biggest cities in the world, and they will execute these attacks all at once. Just like that, the world's ten biggest monkey cages blow up, with all the monkeys in them instantly incinerated. Not even Uriel ever thought of that."

"And the first group intends to somehow use the energy of those deaths to do some magic thing that something-something-something and they win?"

"They think that they'll have enough power to empower the other side enough to win, and in return they'll rule the world as his chief henchmen."

"Wait," I said, "what's to say that this power will be contained enough to be used?"

Michael smiled. "You get it!"

And I could not hide the horror on my face.

The Reluctant Doomsayer-01

I heard the impossible. I heard a knock on the door. I should hear nothing after that last seizure. I should be dead, blissfully dead.

The door knock. I heard it a second time, and then a muffled--but irritated--voice.

I got up and answered the door. I saw a man that looked like Christopher Walken, but too young to really be him, and too much like a well-known role of his, for it to be him.

"You're Michael." I said.

"Clever monkey." he said, and he pushed past me into my room, shutting the door.

"I'd tell you to not be afraid, but that's obvious, and before you ask: I had a hand in the first one, but the others didn't have my guiding hand, and the me portrayed isn't actually mad with Him. Just a story, albeit one with some truth to it."

"Well, that explains why I'm not quite dead yet."

"Look at you." he said, "Undone by a heart attack, brought on by all this stress felt due to a lifetime of frustration."

"You're not here to chit-chat." I said.

He smiled. "True, I'm not. I'm here on His behalf, and He has an offer for you."

"Go on." I said, sitting down.

"Your fellow monkeys finally got on His bad side, again."

"Well, I doubt I'm being asked to do the righteous smiting thing. Your kind is far better for that."

"I see why He picked your name out of the hat, as it were." Michael said, "You're the Final Prophet, if you accept. Your task will be to give the final warning to repent before the Judgement."

"This sort of negotiating seems far more reminscent of a gangster film than a proper negotiation. Nonetheless, what happens should I refuse."

"Death, and not the sort that relieves. Total and eternal severance from Him. You think you folks go mad being alone too long now?"

I quickly put the dots together. "Okay. And what's on offer for acceptance."

"If you're lucky, a remnant of your kind will get back on His good side and be allow to start over after the mass exterminations, and you--assuming you hold up your end--are guaranteed eternity in blissful serenity."

The door to my room exploded inward, and another man who looked like Christopher Walken walked into the room.

"Not. Funny." he said to the other one, and in a smooth motion snatch me up and took me away. Since Kansas is well behind me at this point, I just went with it. Some time soon thereafter, he sat me down and stared at me.

"Did you decide?"

"Nope. I figured it had to be a trap, because you folks who are still on God's side don't negotiate. You just deliver news or execute commands."

"True. That said, there is something He wants you to do, and you're not dead yet because this work is yours, like it or not."

"Let me guess: I'm to warn the world of God's impending wrath?"

"Correct."

"Any help forthcoming from His end?"

"You don't die, yet. Other things to come as required; do your part, maintain faith in Him to handle the rest, and everything will go well."

"Lovely."