Eureka Springs, Arkansas, 10:30 AM January 1st, 1964
William Stryker considered himself a fair, reasonable man. He was a man of the Lord, after all, and as such, certain things were expected of him. He couldn't rant and rave no matter how badly he might want to, he wasn't one of those negro preachers back in the Southern swamp hellholes with their disgraceful, vulgar displays in those "churches" of theirs. You had to act a certain way when you wore the collar, you had to show dignity, restraint, composure!
That said, William Stryker was about 30 seconds away from grabbing his mentor by his thinning hair and bash it against his old oak desk until his brains dripped onto the floor.
"Minister Smith, please..."
Gerald Smith, the man who had been his mentor and teacher these last few years, the man who had shown him the light of God, who had turned the teachings of Christ into something that made sense, that had given Stryker a new lease on life, barely spared him a second glance. In front of him, scattered across the surface of his desk, laid several large sheets of paper, with barely comprehensible shapes and plans scribbled across them, some of them covered by photographs and documents spilling out of their folders. Smith shuffled mindlessly through the papers littering his desk, picking up a photo of what appeared to be a large field, with a forest barely visible in the distance, before tossing it aside.
This was all that had held Smith's attention for months now, this... ridiculous boondoggle he had turned towards as an expression of his faith. An amusement park of all things, something Smith had become convinced would be the perfect way to glorify Christ in the minds of the public. That's why he'd bought this miserable patch of wasteland out in the middle of nowhere, and why Stryker had followed him here, even as it seemed everyone else were deserting him. As everyone else waivered in their faith and resolve, and allowed themselves to be weakened and corrupted by the sins of this world.
Stryker felt a cold rage begin to stir within him. This is what the reward of his faith was to be? Watch this once great man of God shuffle around and babble about his ridiculous "Christ Of the Ozarks"? As if Christ was some blasphemous street idol to be gawked at by the filth that infested America? Stryker remembered Smith as he had once been, one of the few men brave enough to speak the truth, to call out the devils hiding among men in plain sight. He'd never backed down, seeing the corruption fester in the very foundations of America, Jews and negroes living among decent, god-fearing folks like vipers in a birds nest. And even when everyone else shunned Smith, cast him out for telling the truth, Stryker had never wavered.
Until now. Until Minister Gerald Smith wouldn't listen, wouldn't see that Satan himself was walking the Earth at this very moment, and the souls of all mankind was at risk. Jews, Stryker knew how to deal with. They were heretics and traitors to God, of course, and deserving of nothing but eternal damnation, which they would get in time, but they were still men, of a sort. A man could be exiled, a man could be imprisoned, a man could be killed! But mutants... These things, born from man, but were anything but, possessing unnatural and blasphemous abilities that offended the very concept of creation, they were not men. They couldn't be! He didn't know how, but somehow, the spawns of the devil had found a way into Eden, through the seed of it's inhabitants, and there were more of them every day! He'd seen it himself, a child born with icy, blue skin, and white hair, brought to him by it's mother, the woman half-mad with fear. She'd been some nameless inhabitant of the hills around them, wouldn't even tell her who the father was, in fear of how he'd react.
He'd done the Christian thing, of course, and put both mother and spawn out of their misery. Burned the bodies and hidden the bones in the same field Smith wanted his foolish park to be built.
The mutants had to be stopped NOW, while they could still be smothered in their cradle! Before there'd be enough of them that they could form a real threat to humanity. It was almost too late already, the events on Christmas Day proved that. Christmas Day, on the holiest of all days, that demon Magneto had shown the world just what mutants were capable of, as if there had ever been any doubt, yet so few people seemed to understand the danger facing them, the threat to their very souls! But Stryker couldn't do it himself, he needed money, he needed an army. Minister Smith had been the kind of man who could gain both those things in a single day.
Which just made the pathetic shell he now was ever more painful to see.
"Stop bothering me, Stryker! I already told you, the money I've raised is meant for this park, not your latest boogeyman!"
"Latest..." Stryker gaped "Minister, haven't you seen what's going on out there? People with blasphemous powers brawling in the street! Someone claiming to be Captain America himself returned from the dead! It's been all over the news for months!"
Smith just scoffed, giving a dismissive wave "Bah, nothing but lies and tricks from the Jew-run media! Haven't I taught you anything, Stryker? It's nothing but a transparent attempt at poisoning the minds of the public! You can believe nothing in this world but your own two eyes, and your soul!"
It was even worse than Stryker had feared. Smith didn't even seem to notice the shocked look on the face of his acolyte and just kept rambling "This, this is all that matters" he whispered, tapping the crude sketch of a statue holding it's arms out in a cross pose "Bringing the glory of the Lord to Earth, something tangible to finally force the people to see Him as we do! We shall construct a New Jerusalem right here, for the true faithful to gather and listen to the good word, without the taint that's seeped into the churches outside! If you're not going to bother helping, then get out of my sight!" He spat out those final words, before sinking back into his fantasies, staring blankly at the photos and plans.
Without another word, Stryker turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Smith to his madness.
He was alone. Stryker could see that now. Among the halls of Christendom, only he saw the Hell that had opened up beneath the world, ready to consume them all. Fine. If this was to be the tribulation the Lord had chosen to test him, Stryker would not falter. He'd look for allies elsewhere, seek a temporary truce with a lesser evil if it meant the ultimate triumph for the faithful.
Even the corrupt and blinded occasionally had their uses after all...
...
The Home Of the Trask Family, New York City, 12.00 PM, January 1st, 1964
Fools. Fools, all of them.
It had been a miserable New Years Eve for Bolivar Trask, but then, he hadn't expected anything else, considering the year that had passed.
Slouched in a large, gilded chair, staring into the dying embers in the fireplace, Bolivar Trask let his mind wander, dragging up the bitter memories of his failures like walking on a blistered foot. He sneered. No one had wanted to listen to him. Not his colleagues, not those cowards at the universities, not the politicians, not even his WIFE would listen to him! He'd warned them, had been warning them for years, and it was all for nothing.
At first, his theories had been seen as "extreme", "laughuable" even. After all, a superpowered offshoot of humanity, who'd ever heard of such a thing? Only the most fringe publications had been interested in his papers, and even they seemed to take a kind of glib condescencion towards them, like they were doing him a favor for giving him the time of day. But Trask, he knew what had been at stake, the very survival of humanity! A future of subjugation or extermination! So, he'd perservered, even in the face of ridicule and ignorance, following every rumor, every story about mysterious events or stories about people with extraordinary abilities. And finally, it seemed his time had come!
The attack on Cape Citadel just a few months ago seemed to have been everything Trask had been predicting, The Mutant arising to try and usurp humanity, only to be repelled, for now. And Trask had found renewed purpose, seeing his theories validated, and doubled his efforts to gain attention to his work. And people listened, if reluctantly, when he said that humanity had to act NOW, before it was too late! That direct effort to contain the mutant threat had to be made, that with their superior numbers, they had the chance to save their future!
The events on Christmas Day had almost seemed like a christmas miracle to him, the world had been forced to see the very thing Trask had been warning them of all this time, and he'd thought that finally, FINALLY, the governments of the world couldn't ignore the threat facing them. If anything, the public wouldn't let them, they'd panic in the streets, demand immediate action to destroy these nightmares, and who best to lead them than him, the man who had been right all along?
Except it hadn't gone like that. At all.
Magneto had FAILED, his Brotherhood beaten back, and by other mutants at that! The world hadn't seen a new threat against it at all, it was just another case of colorful heroes fighting the bad guys to them! Sure, there'd been fear in the media, suspicion, but nothing like there should have been! People were vary of the mutants, but not terrified! They didn't see the danger the new species posed at all, even when the evidence was right in front of them!!
And Trask was ignored, like some street-corner preacher, prophesizing doomsday.
With a snarl, Trask hurled the near-empty glass he'd been clutching into the fireplace, watching it shatter and the whiskey inside sputter into sparks, before stalking over to the window. He stood there, watching a light snow drift down from a grey January sky.
"Idiots. They've killed us all..."
He'd seen it happen before in his research, countless times throughout history. Like clockwork. One culture usurps another. One species destroys it's predecessor. And now, he was given a first-row seat to the extinction of his own species, and no one would lift a finger to stop it.
He'd be damned if he was just going to lie down and die. He'd wipe out the freaks before they could breed out of control, even if he had to do it himself.
The phone rang.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Trask? You don't know me, but I believe we may be of use to eachother. My name is Reverend William Stryker..."
.........
The final part of Auld Lang Syne, "Empire In the Shadows", is currently availible on Patreon.368