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The Cathedral

His given name was But for the Love of Jesus Christ We Would All Be Damned Smith, III, BC for short. The name was peculiar to BC’s societal caste. Some thought of it as a profession but you had to be born a Cleanser. This fact was inconsequential to the rest of the passengers aboard the earth bound shuttle. His clean-shaven head gleamed in the artificial light as he moved toward his seat. “Cleansers” had precedence over everyone but a higher-level Cleanser in all aspects of society. This status was fine for the sociopathic, but for one with emotions the singularity was often too much.

The lack of gravity made transit to the only port seat in the cabin clumsy. With a shrugged thought BC powered up his personal field and utilized the electromagnetic flow generated to attract his entire body to the metallic surface of the floors. Like a druid of old, his heavy leather cloak and austere looks were only perpetuated by the aura of electricity that seemed to crackle around him. Other passengers shared looks with each other in deference to this mercenary representative of the Church’s Central Council. It was rumored that the glance of a Cleanser was sufficient to cause death at the most, or impotence at the least. BC almost chuckled at the ill-founded suspicions knowing well the mental and physical strength required to end the existence of another human being.

BC’s brow furrowed. He was all too familiar with the act of Cleansing; the name itself was merely a catch phrase taught early on in seminary to camouflage the act of terminating enemies of the Council.

T.J. Morris

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