They Are Not Human

Chapter 11

The room was dark despite the small amount of light coming in through the windows.   Arlo and a few others light torches to brighten the area we were standing in.  The bright flash from the orange flames gives the room a fiery glow.  

A gasp escapes from my mouth as the beauty of the first room hits me.

This first room was huge and had grand arch ways lining the 20-foot ceiling. Off to the left and off to the right were a bunch of hallways surrounded by pillars and beautifully crafted entryways. The whole place reminded me of ancient Montepulciano depicted in my history books. 

A sad smile creeps across my face as I'm reminded of the child I used to be.  A child who was obsessed with her history books and what lay in the outside world beyond her village.  Ironic, that the very outside world I was so desperate to know about lay home to the pain and suffering I tried to escape.  

A loud sigh escapes from my mouth as pity swarms me.  There was no time to dwell on the past now.

As we inch our way further into the room, I notice in between each archway the ceiling is carefully painted with master works of art. The pictures on each slab seemed to depict a story.  Although I couldn't begin to guess what that story was.   

 On one of the panels, there is a man ominously holding a ball of light.  People surround him in a god-like fashion with bowed heads. The man is inhumanly beautiful.   His appearance is alien almost compared to the average person.

In the picture the man had long unnaturally colored hair, a striking white color. His skin was flawless and pale.  Even models would yearn for a fraction of his porcelain smooth skin.  Lastly his pale features were accompanied by a set of bright blue eyes. His eyes were oceans deep and had an element of mystery to them.

As I stare deeper into the man's eyes, I am left with an odd sense of familiarity.  Where did I know him from?  Surely, I would remember coming across a fellow like him, but yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him.  

One of the group members from beside me, makes an audible gasp.  I peel my eyes away from the picture and see the sense of wonder on their face.  I knew they too were drawn into the artwork like I was.

On another panel there was a picture of a utopia that could only be described as paradise on Earth.  The elegant brush strokes made sure to pay fine attention to the details of the trees, and the rivers surrounding the area.

A couple panels down was a stark black slab with a bright white moon painted in the middle of it.  There seemed to be more to it, but a good chunk of the stone slab was missing. The picture was almost unrecognizable in its current state. 

The last panel was at the end of the long corridor we were standing in.  It was tucked away inconspicuously in a corner away from the general public.  It was like a you had to be in the bowels of the establishment before you were meant to see it.  A last omen perhaps as you were banished away to hell.  

At first glance the slab was hard to make out, especially considering how dark the room was. It was painted black, much like its moon portrait sister.

I walk closer, desperate to get a direct view of it.  Arlo follows closely behind, his orange flame in tow.  A chill creeps up my spine as I descend away from the comfort of the main group, into the darkness of the large room.  

My jaw drops in horror as the picture becomes clearer.  Was I screaming?  Was I frozen with fear?  I couldn't tell. 

Arlo waves his flame and reveals the mystery of the slab sitting before us.  There painted in black and white was the all too familiar incomplete triangle that was tattooed on Jakove's arm. Under the symbol was the simple phrase "The new world order".