The preacher’s eyes widened.
“You are using me to control people. Did you even read the fucking Bible?”
“I assure you, I’ve read—”
“You haven’t. You cherry-pick the shit that suits you.”
The preacher reached for his baton.
“Is that how you deal with people? You beat them when they don’t conform
to your twisted faith?”
Luke had never seen a preacher use one.
The second preacher swung. The puppet yanked Luke into the air.
“Fucking idiots!”
They swooped down. Luke’s feet collided with the preacher, knocking him to
the street. The other preacher froze.
The crowd gasped.
The puppet glided back to the ground.
“Heretic!” someone cried.
“Liberal!” another shouted.
The crowd gathered behind the preachers. Cameras caught everything. Luke’s
face was everywhere. There would be no hiding now. He prayed it was a
fever dream.
Across town, Rory Parker watched from his office.
He’d ruled Bibleopolis since the beginning but never attended an exile.
They had always been uneventful. Until now.
“Lawson!” he shouted.
The assistant burst in.
“Yes, sir.”