The Seed of Khepri - Rough Draft Edition

Chapter 2 - The Promise

"It is an often spoken, yet rarely heard. That we, as humans, are doomed ever to repeat the sins of our fathers; and their fathers, and their fathers again. That we live in the ghosts of those who guided generations, people we think are so different from us. That they have never sinned, or sin so much more than we ever could. But they just had an opportunity, and all wanted the same as we do. Individuality, survival, legacy."

A singular man stood upon a pulpit, addressing out into the open room before him. His skin was pale to an almost concerning degree, and his every limb was scrawny; as if he had been fasting for weeks with no reprieve. His stature was just as diminutive as the amount of fat on his body. Without the elevated platform he stood on to raise him up, it would have been near impossible for him to preach to the large congregation before him. It would be easy, as a result of his appearance, to say that the man was emaciated enough to require hospitalization. If it wasn't for the sheer enthusiasm, and dedication, and confidence that he was able to muster when addressing an entire building's worth of people. A feat that most would be incapable of, never mind with such gusto and self assurance.

The building in question was an old Christian church. Long since having been abandoned, and fallen into disrepair over years of unuse. It was the combined result of a more scientific focused culture, and the faith of everyone being viciously tested during the apparent end of the world. Not that it had all been abandoned entirely. Especially not in desperate times and desperate people, or in the homes of certain families. But dedicated venues now remained few and far between. This building in particular - formerly known as the '2nd Deuteronomy Holy Church' - still appeared to be forgotten to this day from the view of the average onlooker. By those who once praised here, and those who might hope to reuse the space for some other construction. To a select few, however, there was knowledge of a resurgence to the relevance of this structure.

Lights hung overhead in makeshift fashion, no doubt hung up by these aforementioned few, alongside a myriad of lit candles that had been offered up by the participants of this gathering. Other than these crude forms of lighting the space, there were several holes in the weather worn roof. Allowing the neon of the city to still permeate the holy halls, only in a few spaces, which kept the space from being wholly moody. With the weather, of course, several holes had been patched up with whatever was available. Mainly over where those who were attending would be standing, or sitting. The materials used initially for the plugging of those holes, like plies of wood and leather cut from old couches, later reused as canvases for inspired murals of lights, and grass, and fire.

"We stand now at a precipice. Where all of these universal qualities of man are bound to slip away. To find extinction on Earth, whilst the 'best' of us - who we know are just the wealthiest, the most heartless or lucky of us - flee to the stars. To the Moon, and to Mars. What new world do you think their kind will build? A utopia? A second chance? The salvation they promise? Or will the egregious actions they have taken in these desperate years follow them even through the void of space, to taint every surviving bloodline with the sins of their fathers?"

The congregation was vast and diverse. A representation of many a caste, ethnicity and race; forming a group that must have been over a hundred strong. The former religion of this location had been more or less discarded, and now instead made any and all welcome.

There was a man who looked like he hadn't fallen upon hard times, but instead had been dragging himself through them for decades. The both of his legs entirely replaced with cybernetic prosthetics - the kind gotten out on necessity, rather than choice - whilst one of his arms, hand included, was scarred and scorched from some decades old pyromaniacal incident. In contrast, there stood a woman who was well maintained and aimed to appear as beyond flawless. Dressed formally in business attire, with top-of-the-line augments placed tastefully around the parts of her body that were still exposed. A peak representation of the heartless wealth that the preacher's words judged, yet listening along regardless. Even a child was in attendance, clothed with material that was falling apart and disposably cheap in origin. The same could be said about her most glaring technological addition, that took the place of her right eye. Crude and unsophisticated, the device demanded a portion of her face (beyond just the unconvincing, plastic and metal eye) be taken in exchange for her sight. Silvery metal, rusted in some places, taking up just over a quarter of her flesh; like a scar with predetermined edges and an anticipated design.